


Where the sun never shines

by MrsMoriarty



Category: HOMER - Works, The Iliad - Homer, Troy (2004)
Genre: Ancient Greece, Canon-Typical Violence, Hector is Briseis, Hector is a poor baby, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slavery, Slow Burn, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 12:50:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 43,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17767106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMoriarty/pseuds/MrsMoriarty
Summary: Hector is captured by the Myrmidons in an ambush but mistaken for a common soldier. In order to survive he will have to keep up appearances until an opportunity for escape arises. Achilles, however, decides that those specific spoils of war are his to enjoy.





	1. Prologue in Olympus

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Wo kein Tag mehr scheinet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17553896) by [MrsMoriarty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMoriarty/pseuds/MrsMoriarty). 



> This is a translation of my work "Wo kein Tag mehr scheinet", which was written in German. English is not my first language and sincerely hope that the story is still enjoyable to read, please excuse my mistakes.
> 
> If people want me to I will go on with the translation.

"Do you find this funny?"

"Oh, definitely."

A stern look makes him sigh. "Well, it's better than the alternative, is not it?"

"What alternative?"

"They kill each other."

"That can still happen, you know that, right?"

"But it will be less likely."

Silence.

"I still feel sorry for him.”

"He is strong. He will survive."

"It's not easy being blessed by the sun, is it, Apollo?"

"No, my dear. But apparently it does not make you smart to be a protégé of Athena, either. "


	2. Ambush

Looking back, Hector will wonder if all that happens to him, all his suffering and torment, is not just a tasteless joke of the gods. He is far from Apollo's face when his fate changes so profoundly, and perhaps that alone should have been a warning to him.

It is so quiet within the cool, shady walls of the Temple of Apollo that he can hear his heart beating. The truce for today has come to him unexpectedly, though not undesired.

It is only thanks to the zeal of the fight that he has left his troops, and the Prince of Troy knows that he should not let the gracious pause pass unused, but he is still caught in the horror that is the blood of the innocent priests, that now stains the statues and the altar in the main sanctuary.

Anger rises in him when he thinks about the animal brutality with which the Greeks have raged. Nothing is sacred to these barbarians and that is what makes them so dangerous to his city. Sighing, he turns away from the destruction at his feet. He will have to speak with his father, with the council of elders and the other priests. Certainly the sun god will not turn away from his city, but the ease with which the enemy forces have destroyed the temple can’t be a good. His footsteps echo from the walls as Hector sets off on the way back.

He almost doesn’t hear the calls, but he is attentive and so he stops immediately and instinctively decides to investigate the cause. Maybe one of the priests has survived, maybe one of their warriors is injured, maybe ... The closer he gets to the unfortunate, the clearer it becomes that the cries for help are uttered in Greek.

 

Nevertheless, or perhaps because of it, he goes on. He steps through an archway and can see the bloodstained Greek lying on the ground. Hector looks down onto the desperate man, who seems to notice him just now.

"Help me, please, it hurts so bad! I pray you, I- "As Hector steps into the light, the Greek freezes and sheer terror shows in his face. Hector has long since lost his helmet and spear in the carnage, but his armor still inevitably betrays him as a Trojan. As he approaches the man lying on the ground begins to crawl away from him, but his injuries end the escape attempt after a few inches. Hector's Greek is far from perfect, but still enough to understand that the prisoner is begging all the gods of Greece for help. Hector casts away his sword and spreads his arms as he approaches the man crouching in front of him.

"There is a truce!" He brings out in strongly accented Hellenic. The Greek's expression is still fearful, but now he remains silent and Hector ventures forward, dropping his sword and kneeling beside the others. Carefully, he begins to feel for any injuries. He is covered with cuts and bruises, as they all are, after years of siege and war. Hector considers whether he should break the silence, that has settled between them, by some encouraging or reassuring words. He lets his eyes wander to the knee the Greek has nursed and perceives the corpses of the slain priests in the periphery of his gaze.

He presses his lips together in determination and continues his administrations. After removing the other's greave, he feels for possible breaks, but can not find anything. When Hector tries to back up in surprise, he already feels the cold steel of a blade and does not have to see the Greek's grin in order to know that he has been lured into a trap. Hector bites down the curse on his lips and reluctantly forces himself to his feet. The knife at his throat suffocates every thought of resistance and he's probably too exhausted anyway. He thinks of the golden clips in his hair and is glad he at least no longer wears his treacherous sword. From the murmurs he hears behind him there must be at least two other men who have ambushed him. Even though he hardly understands the hectic dialect, it is more than clear that they enjoy themselves at his own expense. The anger Hector feels rises into a guttural growl, but at that moment sharp blow hits his face from the side, turning it into a moan.

He stumbles forward and is caught by the hand of one of his captors who brutally pulls him up by the hair. The pain reflexively wets his eyes and makes him blink, only leaving a vague impression of their way outside, nothing but a gruesome series of destruction and death.

The men step out into the glowing midday sun of the Troad and for a moment Hector is blinded. Before he has completely re-composed himself, he feels a tearing on his hair and realizes that he will soon be rid of the last insignia of his royal origin.

"Maybe a general?"

"Nonsense! Then he wouldn’t have been alone!"

"Probably just a spoiled merchant's son!"

He hears them talking about him, but ignores their words. Instead, he straightens up and proudly raises his head.

"Must be desperate if they already use such people."

Rough laughter, but Hector keeps looking around and watches the Greeks carry dozens of the treasures from the temple and set aside their dead. They leave the fallen Trojans in the sand and above he can already hear thr caws oft he crows. At least it's not as many as Hector feared.

"Hey, Trojan!" One of the men who betrayed him approaches him from the side, enunciating every word slowly, as if talking to a child: "Do you talk? Or do you not know how to speak Greek apart from that grunting you call language?"

Slowly, without batting an eye, Hector turns to the one who addressed him. He answers calmly and emphatically, makes an effort to hide his Luwian accent and he thanks Apollo, whose light shines brightly over them, that he succeeds: "Depends on whether the company is worth it ..."

His irony is answered with a painful punch in the stomach, but the others laugh and adrenaline and defiance intoxicate Hector. He collapses, pretending to be injured, pauses, then lunges to knock the soldier next to him to the ground. Of course, his revolt is only of short success, but at least he manages keep the arrogant Greek at bay for a while and when the bystanders finally tear him away and put him shackles, it seems for a moment as if the assailant wants to slit his throat right there and then, which Hector considers a reward in itself.

But suddenly the other man’s anger seems frozen and the Greeks step aside. A kick to his knees sends Hector to the ground and only when the imposing warrior with the golden hair and sea blue eyes steps in front of him, Hector recognizes, who has joined them there.

It did not take long for his name to become notorious among the Trojans. He is a living legend and ever since he has used his sword for the first time in this accursed war, he is planting the fear deep into the hearts of the Trojans. Achilles, son of Peleus from the house of the Aiakos, carefully eyes the prisoner and then turns to his Myrmidon.

"Who is this?"

"A Trojan prisoner. He tried to ambush us, but we were able to overwhelm him. "

Hector snorts contemptuously, but he knows better than to contradict.

"Was that all you found with him?"

The warriors confirm. "Yes, mylord, he was far from the treasury when we found him.“

Achilles raises an eyebrow and this minimal gesture is enough for the men to push forward the one who has stolen his hair clips and stretch out his wretched handful of gold. His commander takes the jewelry without comment and looks at the treasure in his palm. Then he lets his gaze wander over Hector, who is still kneeling in the dust in front of him, and examines him almost as disparagingly as the precious metal before he throws the gold at his soldier.

„Well, the jewelry you can keep, Eumaeus.“ The implication of what else is considered war trophy hangs over him and for the first time, Hector feels his stomach turn. But before he can bring the thought to an end, Achilles gives the order to depart and together with the rest of the booty Hector is tied to a horse and the camp of the Greeks. Even the animal is a spoil of war. Hector recognizes the brown piebald coat of the stallion. He himself helped break the animal before it was taken to his father's stables. He hopes dully that its rider has been more fortunate and for a moment draws comfort in the intimacy of being close to a benevolent and living creature.


	3. Captivity

Of course this peace does not last very long. For the last few weeks the Greeks have continually closed in on the city and thus after only a few miles Hector finds himself in the middle of the enemy’s lair. He’s pulled of the horse rahter unceremoniously. It is a relief that he seems to be the only prisoner the Greeks have made today, but a gloomy one at that, as it not only means that his men might be safe, he is some kind of attraction as the only living trophy.

More and more Greeks gather on the clearing amidst the tents adding to the Myrmidons that brought him here. He has lost sight of Achilles long ago. He will probably be off to discuss what to make of the truce with the other leaders. There is no commander in sight and so it comes as no surprise that the soldiers, while tending to their wounds, drinking and telling tales of their heoric deeds, show no sign of mercy to their prisoner. Ever since he has been captured Hector has mentally prepared himself for this. He knows whats in store for prisoners of war.

And yet the strikes and the heat still take their toll. He goes down again and again and everytime he rises in defiance until another one decides to prove his worth by fighting an injured enemy. The others cheer them on.

Nobody dares to inflict serious wounds on him Hector realizes, even though he is panting and swallowing blood. But thirst and exhaustion make his limbs heavy and the continued assault by hands and whips make the world spin around him. When the dusk sets it’s only his iron will that keeps him going.

All around them fires spark up and from far he can hear the almost invidious sound of a forlon lyra. The stars are out already when finally a man steps up to them who stops the soldiers‘ games. Hector’s left eyes is swollen shut so he only sees the silhouetto of the older man, but when he starts talking, Hector is almost certain that this must be Eudoros, Achilles‘ second in command.

„That’s enoguh!“ He doesn’t even have to raise his voice. Quiet and determined Eduoros orders the onlookers to seize their antics and they obey.

„Get up!“ It takes a moment for Hector to realize that Eudoros has spoken in his mother’s tongue to adress him. He spits blood at his feet and gets back on his feet, shaking but upright. The officer eyes him carefully.

„Not too much was destroyed, I suppose“ and this time Hector isn’t sure wether the words are directed at him or the Greeks. He shows his teeth and delights in the obvious disgust on Eudoros‘ face.

„Chain him up and get him in his tent!“

Every fibre of his body hurts when they drag him away, but only when the iron shackles clasp around his wrists does Hector really fathom the full impact of his fate: he is not a hostage. Nobody in Troy knows he is so much as alive. There will be no bargain and no rescue. These chains are meant to be on him forever.

Hector swallows. The thought is definite and crashing. So encompassed is his mind that Hector only sees the scorching iron they bring in the last second. In the end it doesn’t matter. Even with his chains it takes four men, but he can’t stop them from burning him like a piece of stubborn cattle.

The pain is almost too much, the stench of his own burnt skin nauseating. He groans and although this is the closest they have brought him to crying out from pain it feels like a defeat. Achilles‘ mark shows red and vicious on his chest and there is nothing he can do to change it.

Hector clenches his jaw and does not give away how every muscle in his body wails in pprotest when they start dragging him away.

They lead him to the river, tear away the sad remains of his tunic and push him inside the muddy water in order to scrub away the dirty traces this day has left on him. It’s hard for Hector to be humiliated like this in front of his enemies, but soon enough he is too busy to keep his breath to care anymore.

When they pull him back on dry land he is breathless and relieved all the same. A field doctor is called to inspect his injuries, which are numerous but not dangerous. It’s a weak consolation for Hector, who is still drenched, but at least given a new loin cloth, which he gratefully pulls around himself.


	4. The lion's den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This is as close to non-con as the story will get. Heavy dub-con elements ahead. Proceed with caution.

When they lead him into the darkness of Achilles‘ tent, there is no need to throw him onto the ground, for as soon as the soldiers let got of Hector he falls down.

The mockery he has to endure for his weakness is biting and almost as painful as his wounds, but at least it still seems to require a considerable amount of effort to drag him to the nearest tent post, judging from the men’s panting. They tie his hands to the wood behind him and Hector leans his head forward in exhaustion, though long strands of his dark wet hair hang over his forehead, and stares silently at the ground. He does not look up when they finally leave him alone.

It was only this morning that he woke up in his own bed high above the Trojan rooftops, but right now this seems tob e the first quiet moment in an eternity. His father’s face appears before his eyes, as do those of his brothers and Andromache.

Do they still think him to be missing or have they started mourning already? Again, the sound of a lyre sounds from far away and finally it seems that the summer heat subsides a bit.

He hears the cicadas tirelessly chirping and for a moment he finds solace in the immutability and steadfastness of these insects, who care so little for the fortunes of men and sing the deaths of Trojans and Greeks alike. It almost grieves him how many of these Bards he has trapped and tortured with his brothers as a little boy, and he wonders if it was as hard for them to accept the suddenness of their freedom’s end as it is for him now.

 

A sudden burst of air blows across his face and pulls him out of his twilight state. From one second to the other, Hector is wide awake. The adrenaline in his veins makes him pull himself up as far as his restraints allow. He keeps his head stubbornly lowered in front of him and observes the blond man who enters the tent from the corner of his eye only.

Even in the semi-darkness, he can easily see why in the Troy’s taverns they whisper of the myrmidon lion. Every inch of Achilles' body speaks of incredible strength. His hair around his head gives him an almost royal appearance. Nevertheless, the Greek warrior seems less driven now that he is away from the battlefield.

It's hard to judge how old he is exactly. Hector suspects that he and Achilles must be about the same age. Perhaps the Greek is a little younger, but this impression may also be due to the fact that unlike himself, who proudly wears his beard as a sign of his royal lineage and life experience, Achilles shaves his face quite smoothly. Not even a shadow covers his mouth.

His movements are purposeful but calm and overall he looks much more relaxed than before. He seems content, completely in tune with his environment. He hardly even looks at the chained up man on the floor. Instead, he crosses the tent with a few steps, the interior of which Hector now takes in for the first time: It is spacious, large even, and to the left of the entrance is a section of cloth draped so that those entering cannot immediately sees the whole interior. In the middle is a pewter bowl on three legs, in which probably a fire can be kindled.

Right now, however, there is only some coal smoldering in it, which must be mixed with herbs, because every now and then a pleasant smell blows over to Hector. With the hole in the ceiling, through which he can barely catch a glimpse of the clear starry sky, the air in the tent is surprisingly fresh and pleasant, much less stuffy than Hector is used to from the Trojan armies. Around the fire, at some distance and concentric with the outer walls, there are additional wooden posts in the ground, which make it possible to keep the tent so expansive. Between them sheepskin-covered seat cushions are arranged, and directly opposite the entrance and not far from Hector's current position there is a divan. Apparently it is not uncommon for Achilles to receive guests here.

In the outer circle of the tent Hector can see little: chests with clothes, armor and treasures. Behind the divan over a good part of the floor skins, cushions, mattresses and blankets are almost decadently piled up, building a bed he might have expected in a Persian ruler’s tent, but not in a soldier’s. Hector snorts contemptuously.

If Achilles heard him, he does not react to it. He, too, must be exhausted from such a long day, but he shows no sign of haste as he begins to lay down his pitch-black armor. Hector watches as he takes off his helmet and breastplate, slowly and deliberately loosens the straps of his sandals, and finally ties up arm guards and greaves.

He throws everything aside carelessly. His shield and weapons are nowhere to be seen. Achilles reaches for a decanter, pours himself some wine and takes a long sip. Afterwards he goes to the bronze bowl of water next to the entrance and begins to wash the dust and effort of the day from his face. Then, as if he were alone in his tent except for his furniture, Achilles also removes his tunic and Hector averts his eyes as if Zeus had struck him with lightning. He hears a dry laugh and realizes that Achilles has watched him just as he did.

Defiantly, he pretends not to have heard the laughter and Achilles returns the favor. He continues to clean himself in silence and Hector avoids to look at him but listens attentively to what the other one is doing. He supposes that he hears Achilles is pick up the tunic again, but he is not sure. Abruptly, Achilles enters his field of vision and kneels so close to him that Hector can feel his breath on his face. Achilles' right hand reaches under his chin and forces him to look up.

In his left, Achilles still holds his clothes and Hector can not stand his gaze. Instead he stares at a point on the tent wall that is far, far away, until Achilles' fingers begin to gently stroke his cheek and then forcibly push between his clenched lips. Hector's head shoots up in alarm and he looks blankly into Achilles' eyes. Does Achilles really think he can get information from him, whom they consider an insignificant mercenary? Or is he just in the mood to erase the cruelty of the day with the atrocities of the evening?

"What's wrong, Trojan, cat got your tongue?" Hector ignores the challenge in Achilles' voice and remains quiet.

"What's your name?" Hector keeps silent and a smile curls Achilles' lips.

"Very well!" Achilles heaves himself back to his feet and looks down at him. His eyes wander over his bare torso and hang for a few seconds on the branding, which stands out scarlet from Hector's skin and gives him away to the whole world as Achilles' property. An eerie glow shows into the Myrmidon’s eyes.

"We have enough time to get to know each other better, you and me!"

Hector shivers and he is sure that Achilles must have seen it, so he spits at his feet and expects a blow for that but none comes.

Instead, Achilles remains sarcastically, "Oh, why so negative?"

But before Hector can decide how to react, a young man enters the tent, beaming at Achilles as if he were the sun god himself. "Good evening, Achilles, I have heard of your glorious victory!"

Achilles returns the smile and for the first time Hector sees something other than ire in the features of the warrior. "Thank you, Patroclus!"

The boy, Patroclus, seems to have forgotten what he wanted and looks questioningly at Hector. Hector shows his teeth and hopes that enough blood still sticks to them to teach the boy a lesson. Achilles ignores their silent exchange.

"What brings you here?"

Patroclus turns away immediately. "I bring you dinner!" he says, offering Achilles a bundle and a small amphora.

"A true friend you are, indeed!" Achilles exclaims, stepping forward to hug Patroclus, who does not seem to mind at all that Achilles is still bared. Only after a few seconds does he release the boy to place his presents on the small table next to the divan. Patroclus pauses, as if waiting for something specific, but Achilles does not react and Patroclus realizes that he is no longer needed. He bids his farewell rather gloomy and throws Achilles a last longing look, then Hector is alone again with the Myrmidon.

Achilles pulls over his tunic, steps back, and continues their conversation as though never interrupted. "You know," he explains, lounging onto the divan, where he begins to eat the grapes and cheese Patroclus brought, "you do not have to be so serious about this whole situation. You will be trated well here", although he immediately limits the offer: "for someone who broke a truce."

If looks could kill, Achilles would now be dead and Hector a free man. He will not justify himself to this Greek, but nevertheless a condescending, dry laugh escapes him.

Interested, Achilles picks up his reaction. "What? Was not a truce decided when they picked you up?"

Against better knowledge Hektor gets carried away to an answer. "Nobody questioned that. Unlike the honesty of certain people. "

To his great astonishment, Achilles simply nods. "I was afraid that that was what happened." No pity, a mere statement. "How did they do it?"

"A cheap trick that made me believe I was helping an injured person."

Again, Achilles nods. "Eumaeus has always been hotblooded and impulsive, but men of his kind will win the victory over Ilium."

"Not if I can prevent it." Hector does not match the provocation, which may not be in Achilles’ tone, but in his words, and tries to sound calm.

He waits to see if Achilles will reprimand him, but just as he himself firmly postulates Troy's strength, Achilles' conviction of Greek superiority seems to be a certainty that needs no justification.

His answer is nothing but a murmured "We will see" that seems to be spoken more to himself than to Hector.

With no response Hector’s defiance weakens. He has not been sure of victory for a long time and knows for almost as long that his belief in success is completely irrelevant. He will defend the city until his last breath, no matter if that will make Troy last a day longer. It is more his sense of duty than his will to fight, which makes him hold up his chin proudly, while Achilles seems to be far away and continues to eat his dinner.

Hector can smell the scent of the bread, as well as the cheese and the salted meats the young man brought. Only now does he notice how hungry he is. He has not eaten since sunrise and his mouth waters. He clenches his teeth, but his stomach growls and loud enough so for Achilles to look up, irritated at first and then amused.

"Hungry?"

Hector takes a moment to deliberate if that question should be honoured with an answer, then, in a sudden attempt of wittiness, he shakes his head. "Not in the least."

Achilles laughs and gets up. He kneels down next to Hector and holds out a piece of bread. As much as he hates it, Hector greedily bites off the first piece, whose spicy taste is a refreshment for his mind and body alike. Without chewing he gulps down the food, but after the second bite Achilles pulls away.

"Slowly, take your time!" He puts the bread and cheese aside. Then he strokes Hector's still wet strands of hair out of his face, reaches for a bowl and offers him a drink. The water is no longer cold, but still incredibly refreshing. Hector gratefully accepts this offer and tries not tot hink about how desperate he must look, when he drinks too fast and the water starts running  down his chin. He empties two bowls like this and Achilles waits patiently for him before giving him the rest of his dinner.

"Maybe I should have asked Patroclus to bring some more for my guest?"

Hector looks up in embarrassment upon the mockery in Achilles' voice, but with his stomach full, Hector finds it much easier to reciprocate the kindness shown to him.

"Is he your cousin?" It's clear that Achilles appreciates the boy, but he does not look similar enought to be a brother and is too old for a son.

A sad smile flickers over the other man's face. "Patroclus is ... He was my Eromenos."

The word comes unexpectedly, though Hector knows the meaning, and it makes him almost miss the slight regret in Achilles's voice, as he adds, "Before he got too old."

Hector bites his lips and all the melancholy disappeares from the blue eyes. "Amazing. A brave warrior who has shown valor in the face of so many enemies. And yet the simple thought of love can strike fear in his heart so that he can hardly look me in the eye. "

Hector looks up and watches Achilles intensely. "I know the way of the Greeks," he says disparagingly, ignoring that Achilles has come nearer, "and I do not condemn the customs of other nations, only I find it hard believe that what you call love is anything other than a confusion of the senses. "

"A confusion?"

"Love can only exist between a man and his wife. How else should the fruit of love grow? And what other purpose can love have?" He did not want to talk so much, but his sense of duty revolts over Achilles' overtly shown hedonism.

But the Greek laughs loudly and straightens up again to his full size. "Purpose? In love? Troy must be a sad place if you believe that. "

"At least it's a virtuous place. Where fornication has no place. And no contract is treacherously broken."

"No, you prefer to rob your bedfellows."

Hector swallows dryly and prepares himself to defend his stupid little brother, this naive fool, when he realizes that no one here knows that he, too, is a Prince Troy. It surprises him how easily the words leave his lips, and how easy it is to utter them: "This is not my fight. The prince was and still is a love-drunken lecher and a boisterous fool, and the Trojans would have been spared much suffering had he been born to a lesser father's son. But it has happened and sending the queen back would be her certain death. Or do you deny that? "

Achilles is silent and Hector takes it as agreement: "I can not undo the injustice done. I can only fulfill my duty in this game of kings. "

"You speak well, Son of Troy, and you speak true," answers Achilles, "and for that very reason I can not let you go, even if my men have wronged you. The gods play a strange game with us. You've shown heroic courage for a common soldier today and yet you've become my slave. "

Achilles's breath is hot on his skin and Hector shudders. Sure, Achilles' words are spoken in honest respect, but that's only a weak comfort to him. Because no matter how much he dislikes it and sought to ignore it Hector now knows for sure why Achilles wanted him for himself, and of what kind of use he will be for him. He will not ask for news from the enemy's camp, nor will he imitate the sadistic games of his soldiers. Instead, Achilles continues: "Of all the men of Troy, you are the only one who does not need to fear me tonight!"

"And yet you will not ask if I want your touch or not," observes Hektor. His voice remains calm, but the reproach in it is still unmistakable. His defiance seems to amuse Achilles, because again he shows a smile and once again Hector thinks of a predator.

"I treat my property well, Trojan, but I own it completely and in every sense of the word!"

Before Hector can decide what to say, Achilles turns away. He unleashes the chains that hold Hector in place without another word, and the sudden movement may hurt more than the rigid position before. He heaves himself to his feet and takes a moment to regain his balance.

Achilles moves toward his bedside and Hector seizes the opportunity. With all his strength, he throws himself at Achilles, tackles him to the ground and lunges for his throat. Even without weapons it is a short fight. After a few seconds, Achilles turns the injured Hector's arm to his back and presses him down on the cushions with the full weight of his body. "You know you have no chance, Trojan." Hector tries to rear up and fails. Still, he is unreasonably pleased that Achilles' words are ringing with exertion.

"I will have you tonight! It's up to you how it's going to happen. "

Achilles' breath is hot on Hector's ear and only when the exertion and the pain become too much to bear does he give up, collapses on the soft blankets and tries not to think about what will follow his resignation. With disgust, he realizes how Achilles' manhood presses hard against his thighs. His resistance seems to have aroused him.

Hector takes a deep breath and forces himself to ignore the world around him.

"Better," whispers Achilles in his ear and his voice suddenly sounds much lower. Hector has endured many kinds of pain today, he will be able to survive that too.

Nobody, however, could have prepared him for what awaits him now. Achilles still holds him captive, his hands clasped tightly over his head, but his grip softens. He begins to stroke Hector's back with his free hand and slowly kneads the hardened muscles of his shoulders. Hector is petrified, but the gentle movements do not miss their goal. Slowly he relaxes, at least a little. He flinches as hot lips press against his bare skin, but Achilles' caresses are still without any cruelty. He gently presses his hands and mouth on every inch of Hector's injured back. A shiver runs down Hector’s spine, of which he cannot say whether it is due to the coldness of the water or Achilles' tongue. Either way, it does not go unnoticed.

"You will enjoy yourself, Trojan." No threat this time, more of a promise. Hector cannot possibly imagine how to enjoy such a thing, but when Achilles finally releases his hands, he no longer tries to thrash out, but waits.

Achilles' hands pull on his shoulders and turn him on his back and Hector is too surprised to avert his gaze. He can’t quite interpret the expression in Achilles' eyes, but it is definitely not the contempt he expected. As the blond leans forward, Hector believes for a second that he wants to kiss him, but then Achilles turns to his chest, where he continues to follow each muscle of his body with his tongue. Hector feels his nipples harden and puts his head back so he can stare at the dark tent ceiling as Achilles continues to explore his body. The farther the Greek turns to his center, the more shame rises in Hector, but at the same time the sensations of such purposeful artistry are divine. It's no comparison to the last nights spent sharing a bed with Andromache. Usually it’s him who initiates such gatherings while his wife dutifully gives into him, in the hope of finally giving him the she may desire more than he does.

None of it has anything to do with the passion with which he is wanted now. Achilles' lust is scary and intoxicating at the same time. He almost forgets that he is lying on this bed as a slave, he almost does not notice how Achilles pulls the cloth from his loins and that he is now completely exposed to his enemy. Almost.

When he feels Achilles' lips in his crotch, Hector has to bury his hands in the sheets beneath him so as not to risk an attack he can not win. Whatever he expected, this is not it. Hector has heard from his soldiers that there are whores in the cheap brothels of the city who offer such services, but no decent Trojan wife would humble herself to such practices and the vice of bought love is something he has never allowed himself.

Achilles, however, continues undeterred in his actions, and Hector can’t help but surrender to the moment. It is more than clear that the Greek is practiced in what he does. At first he only teases, the touches of his lips on Hector’s shaft nothing more than a game. But then he takes him in his mouth completely and begins to move his head up and down. His tongue continues to caress Hector's tip and after only a few moments, Hector realizes he is getting hard. It doesn’t matter that it is Achilles doing this to him, that he is a man and a Greek, it feels good.

Amidst all the fighting and burning and murdering of the war, Hector allows himself to accept this gesture of desire without questioning its reason and purpose. He doesn’t wonder if it’s Achilles only intention to own his soul as much as his body, does not ask what he wants to prove to him, because if only he wanted to break him, there would certainly be more effective ways.

When Hector begins to reciprocate Achilles' movements, only half-conscious but unequivocal, Achilles' hands push him back onto the pillows so that he can do nothing but close his eyes and enjoy the pleasure of the act. The faster and more intense Achilles' movements become, the more the world disappears around Hector, a soft groan escapes him until he is almost unable to hold on to himself. Panic rises in him as he approaches his climax. Achilles will surely not go so far as to stain himself this way just to embarrass him.

But when Achilles lets go of him at the last moment, it is not relief Hector feels but frighteningly intense frustration. Kneeling above him Achilles takes off his tunic again, much slower than an hour ago.  
His movements slow and deliberate and somehow provocative and for the first time Hector allows himself to admire Achilles body in all its perfection. For perfect he is, the prince has to admit. They say that Achilles ist he son of a nymph, a thought he finds it too easy to believe right now. The power he radiates, the bronze tone of his skin and the bright contrast of his golden hair, as well as the luminous blue of his eyes, all of it makes the Greeks look like an incarnation of warrior virtue. A darling of the gods, a lion among men, come to bring death to Troy, and to see so vulnerable, pushees the adrenaline into Hektor's veins.

His right hand jerks upward, hovering just a few millimeters above Achilles‘ chest. Hector realizes that Achilles sounds breathy, too. The Myrmidon pauses expectantly and for a moment Hector does not know exactly what he will do next. Then Achilles shifts his weight from one knee to the other and that pulls Hektor's gaze further down. Achilles' cock is even bigger aroused and the sight seems obscene to him. Hector recoils. As he closes his eyes in embarrassment and buries his hand back into the fabric, he feels Achilles bending over. Whether disappointment is in his eyes, Hector does not know and does not want to know.

Since he has fallen into the hands of Achilles, much evil has happened to him, but none of it was the hell of inhumanity he had expected. The Greeks did nothing that the Trojans wouldn‘t have done to their prisoners in return, and their leader was sometimes even friendly to him. He has admired his equal in command long before they first met on the battlefield. This has not changed, on the contrary, had they come across each other elsewhere, they might as well have become friends. Maybe it would be easier for him to be in the power of a lesser man.

As things are now, Hector finds the anonymity and loss of all responsibility liberating. For the first time in years, the weight of the well-being of an entire city does not rest on his shoulders, but only his own. Even though he doesn’t know what his own well-being will look like from now on. It terrifies him, how fast he seems to change, the ease with which he has denied himself. What will Greek captivity make of him? Will he still recognize himself when, not if, he escapes? Achilles' hands reach around his waist again and Hektor realizes that they are warm and oily. He is at loss for a moment. But then, with some gentle force, Achilles gets him to set his feet up, bend his knees and present his most private angles.

The Greeks takes his time and Hector grows impatient. If only he could get this over with! All the clarity his imprisonment has brought as ist only upside fades away in Achilles‘ capriciousness, as he still does nothing but revel in the sight of his prisoner.

Finally, Achilles' hands slide down the inside of his thighs, exploring every inch of his skin, searching and demanding, so that Hector can’t help but gasp before hastily biting his lip. Achilles doesn’t stop, but he pauses for a moment and Hector refuses to acknowledge the smug grin that must inevitably show Achilles' face at this point. His fingers move only slower, but also more determined. The oil Achilles applied has made his skin smooth, and suddenly Hector realizes what he wants to achieve with it.

"Kizzuwatna Seha Arzawa!"

He naturally uses his mother tongue as he implores the gods of his house for help. His words are soft and barely audible. Of course he knows what Achilles expects of him, has known since the shackles were first closed around his wrists, and he is determined to bear any disgrace with the utmost dignity, if only to discredit the scorn of the Greek. Now that the time has come, he does not know how to maintain any dignity against the incredible intimacy of the act. Although he is still aroused to the point of pain, everything in him wants to flee and was there any chance of success, Hector would have long since fled the tent.

"All gods of Troy, help me! Help me to endure the shame! ", he prays monotonously to himself. When he feels, Achilles beginning to penetrate him with two fingers at once, his words grow faster, his voice higher.

"You have never really done that." Achilles words silence him. It is not a question, more a surprised statement.

Nevertheless, Hector bothers to answer: "No."

He knows that his inexperience must excite Achilles. If their roles were reversed, if Achilles was a young woman, his slave, maybe he would feel the same. As things are now there is nothing left for him to do but raise his chin a little higher.

And then it's over, even before it starts. Achilles does not continue any further, withdraws from him, only pulls him up until their loins are so close to each other that he can grasp Hector and himself with one hand and satisfy their need with quick, strong strokes.

The sudden change throws Hector off track so completely that he barely notices what's happening. All the seduction, all the superiority are gone from Achilles’ demeanor. This is only a necessity to give them both relief. After a few minutes, Hector comes, almost at the same time as Achilles. Exhausted he sinks back into the cushions and Achilles falls over him. He is lying motionless on him and weighs down heavily on him. For a while, Hector feels nothing but Achilles' bare skin on his own and his hot breath on his ear. He is confused and dazed. Whatever this means, Hector did not expect. He is infinitely relieved and silently thanking the gods for their mercy, but all the adrenaline in his veins just goes nowhere now and leaves him with a strange and aimless restlessness that he can’t quite explain himself.

When the Greek finally rolls away from him, Hector gasps in relief. He is still watching the dark tent ceiling, but he realizes that Achilles' eyes are focused on him.

"What's your name, Trojan?" No want, no demand, more honest interest. Hector licks his lips and is tempted to answer for a moment. To buy time, he takes a deep breath, but still doesn’t find a feasible answer answer. Should he lie and give Achilles just any name to satisfy his curiosity? If so, which one? Will he even be able to lie convincingly? Or should he dare to reveal to Achilles, who lies beside him bared and stained?

A light snore brings Hector back to reality. Astonished, he observes the sleeping man beside him, whose face testifies for the first time to the experience and responsibility that weigh down on him. For a moment he stares at Achilles, then lets himself sink deeper into the pillows and his mind wander. When the flames have finally burnt down, Hector is still awake. The sleep that his body longs for doesn’t come. He doesn’t dare to throw himself around on the sheets for fear he might disturb Achilles, but from time to time he sighs silently. It is already the early hours of the morning before Hector finally calms down enough to sink into an exhausted half-sleep.

 


	5. Slavery

Chapter 4: Slavery

  
The next morning Hector is awakened by the warm rays of the sun, which shine through the cracks between the tarpaulins and tickle him with their golden light. He squints and takes a few seconds to adjust his eyes to the sudden brightness. From the position oft he sun, he estimates that it is already midday. Hektor remains motionless and takes in his surroundings. From what he can tell from his position, nothing has changed since last night except that he is alone again. The beating of his own heart is loud in his ears, but there’s no trace of Achilles. Even his armor is gone, so Hector has a pretty good idea where his enemy is.

He tries to sit up on and fails. Groaning, he rolls over on his stomach and with great difficulty and enormous muscle power he manages to get himself onto his knees. His wrists are still clapsed with iron rings, but Achilles has not bothered to put him back on the chain so he can move relatively freely, and when Hector recognizes that, the thought of flight flashes through his mind. Perhaps, if he managed to steal a Greek armor and then sneak into the faceless mass of mercenaries, then he could make it to the front line ...

His heart, still beating loudly in his ears from the brief effort of getting up, speaks a different language. He feels a bit relaxed and his mind is still half-caught in the soft comforting warmth of half asleep, but his bones ache from the past ordeals. His body vibrates softly in the echo of the pain inflicted on him, and every movement is an act of will of infinite proportions. A disgusting taste oon his tongue adds to his bad physical condition, as if he had been drinking the last night.

He doesn’t pay attention to how long he sits on his feet looking into the distance before he finally gets up. All of his limbs are still aching, stunned and dull, his wounds make it difficult for him to get up. Although no one is watching him, Hector clenches his teeth tightly so as not to give away the effort it takes until he finally stands on wobbly feet. A thin layer of sweat covers his skin, making him feel dirty and makes him rush to the washbowl as fast as he can. The water, warm but clean, is a blessing to Hector, who takes his time to scrub every inch of his skin.

When he is finally satisfied, he staggers to the divan, lets himself sink on it and discovers a bowl of fruit. He wonders himself briefly if the fruits are meant for him, but decides that this is completely irrelevant. Sweet and wonderfully refreshing, the juice of the ripe oranges satisfies his thirst and hunger at the same time. He takes another one until he has almost emptied the whole bowl.

Again he just sits there for a while and doesn’t do anything before he pulls himself up. This time it’s easier, still painful, but he does not have to clench his teeth to stop himself from making any sound and his limbs begin to obey him again.

Slowly he staggers through the tent, gathering what he can find on scattered clothes, and trying to cover his nakedness as best he can. Then he takes a deep breath, pulls the tent fabric aside and steps out into the glaring sunlight

The noise and bustle of the Greek army makes him dizzy and Hector has to close his eyes to keep from falling. His head is roaring with the orders of the soldiers shouting in a short staccato tone and his own pulse.

Then a hand grabs him by the shoulder. Hector opens his eyes and starts, but stumbles again and is prevented from falling by that same hand.

"Oh, the Trojan princess has awakened from her beauty sleep." It’s Eumaeus, who has lured him into his demise yesterday and now grinning at him with undisguised glee. Hector fights the urge to slap him in the face and even before the decision is made, he is already dragged away.

"It's time you start working on repaying the war debt of your people."

Stumbling, Hector follows, too busy to hold himself upright together to fight back. Eumaeus leads him away to a gate, where other slaves are crowded together, inhabitants of the surrounding villages largely judging by the remains of their clothes, and no Trojans, a fact that gives Hector at least a slight satisfaction and also some relief.

They put the chains back on him and give him a bowl of porridge. So apparently, the fruits were not for him, but then again who is he to dismiss small twists of fate? So, no matter how unappetizing the gray substance may be on him, he tacitly empties all of it.

As soon as he is finished, he is grateful for his decision, for the Greeks begin to round them together and then send them south, barefoot in the searing midday sun, to where they have begun to cut down the cedar forests for their own defensive rings and the preservation of their fleet. And that's exactly what they demand from him.

Hector and his fellow slaves are overseen by a few overseers who are quick with the whip and reserved with forbearance. In the merciless heat of the Trojan summer, they begin by cutting tree by tree, freeing them from branches and then dragging them back to the camp, for hours, without pause, without stopping, until sunset.

Silently Hector carries his load, do not look to the left and right and tries attentively to examine his surroundings. But no glimmer of hope does appear. On the way to the slave camps he is accompanied by no less than four soldiers, an exaggeration and waste of resources, in his opinion. The workplaces are far away and between them and Ilium the tent city of the Greeks lies in all its danger. Even on the way back, he can always make out the black armor of the Myrmidons who help out the civilian guards. No chance of escape. He will have to wait and hold out until the gods give him a signal that will allow him to return home. Until then, he must be patient, but Hector is strong and experienced and ready to do whatever is needed to see his beloved city again. He will make it.

  
When they finally unload the heavy logs for the last time this day, Hector doesn‘t know how he made it so far. Never before has the barren, bare clay soil of his home felt as soft as the moment he finally lets himself sink to the ground. He wants nothing but to curl up, no matter how much noise is still raging around him, and sink into a gracious sleep, but the four Myrmidons come to him and bring him back to the tent of their leader without saying a single word.

What exactly it is that Achilles wants from him, which game he plays, Hector can’t fathom. At first he was afraid that by some cursed coincidence Achilles might have guessed who he is, but the Greek makes no attempt to extort information of any kind from him, and in time Hector rejects the idea. Also, he only demands services from him that every cupbearer could fulfill. He has to serve him, especially when his commanders, Eudoros and Menesthios and the others, come around and he does so reasonably well, but Achilles hardly humiliates him, does not adorn himself with Hector's presence at his feet, sometimes even allows him to retire to the back of the tent as far as possible, which cannot sit well with some oft he other leaders.

Only from time to time does he come close to him in a casual gesture, as if to remind him of what he is, making Hector shudder. But he never touches him, never force himself upon him, until Hector loses his vigilance and no longer suspiciously surveys the other man's every movements. Apparently he got bored with him and Hector is sure that Achilles can easily find prettier and better-versed loverss than him.

When they meet in the evening, they usually just sit exhausted, sharing dinner and talking. Perhaps that surprised Hector more than the fact that Achilles seems to accept his will, how entertaining his enemy can be.

Of course, they mostly talk about the war. About this one, who is raging now, and about all those they have fought already. Achilles will then try to assert the Greek superiority over the Trojan barbarians, and Hector will refute his arguments with playful ease. What are conversations full of serious grief at first soon turn into an irrelevant but nonetheless stimulating contest, which ends only when one of them is no longer able to answer from amusement.

Then Achilles sometimes begins to tell of his travels, what he has seen and experienced, of his time at the court of Skyros, when he still wore women's clothes and it takes all of Hector’s self-restraint not to tease him with it. Instead, he rewards his trust with stories from his time in the wilderness that he had to endure as part of his becoming a man, and how much he dreaded the darkness at that time, so he secretly smuggled candles with him, a knowledge, as Achilles disingenuously identifies, which could still be enough today to dishonor him among his fellow citizens to the worst.

Achilles always listens attentively, when Hector, whom he has chosen to call Agathon, reveals a little about himself. He tells Hector about the myths of the Greeks and Hector replies with Trojan legends. Sometimes music from the camp can be heard, then they are silent together and quietly listen to it and Hector almost forgets that he is here as a prisoner.

Those nights can almost be pleasant to him, but what follows are always days in the scorching heat of the Troad, which become even more unbearable in the desolation left by the Greek armies on their merciless advance. They become glaring and interchangable and he notices how he remembers less and less of Troy and sometimes is unable to imagine that there was a previous day and there will be one afterward.

Days pass, weeks even. At some point they stop bringing him to the other slaves in the evenings, but send him from the workplaces directly back to Achilles, the probably best guarded part of the entire camp, where he finds food and sleep, until he is brought back to work the next morning. At first he tries to measure the duration of his imprisonment, but as the weeks progress and there is no hope of change or even flight, the days begin to slip through his fingers.

The guards are mainly retired and invalid men who mourn their honor lost on the battlefield and now vent their frustration on their subordinates. For the most part they confine themselves to shouting rude, scornful orders or occasionally spur them on with a lash of the whip. All in all, however, an invisible spell seems to be put around Hector, protecting him from the more sadistic excesses of those scoundrels.

Only Eumaeus seems to be consciously aiming for him. Usually none of the officers do slave labor. Only now and then do Odysseus, Ajax or Achilles come to the fields to see how their property is doing at work. But recently Achilles' man, who also frequently supports his usual morning escort, wants to convince himself of the steadily progressing clearing of the cedar forests almost every day, stays almost the whole day and soon behaves like one of the guards himself. It has become Hector's personal vendetta to offer him as little reason for attack as possible and to do his work stubbornly without any ado, if just to spite him.

He tries to remember the faces of the other slaves, but they stay away from him and the turnover is high. Those who don’t obey are moved to the quarries and Hector quickly realizes that this is equivalent to a death sentence. At least he did not see anybody coming back from there and he can hardly imagine what it must look like if it is worse than their camp. The few who remain, and whom he recognizes, eye him suspiciously, even more so than their Greek masters, as if they might be at risk themselves for fraternizing with a Trojan, and they begrudge him the luxury of a warm tent at night.

He knows that the Greeks are beginning to call him Achilles' whore, and so do the other slaves. After a while he doesn’t even care anymore.

 


	6. Property

He has to be here well over two months when his routine is suddenly broken. Shortly after noon, he is taken back by his usual escort of four. Eumaeus is not among them. There is a brief argument with the overseers, but the fully-armed warriors have obviously not come here to negotiate. Hector is brought in towards the end of the conversation so he can not fully understand what it's all about, but it's clear that he will not cut another tree today.

"... feel free to discuss this with my lord!" The leader of the Myrmidons, none of the great generals, Antiochus or Antinoous, if he remembers correctly, smiles complacently, watching as the other man seems to bite back a comeback he might regret. Finally, he just turns around unruly and makes a derogatory gesture that Antiochus is willing to ignore.

"What does Achilles want from me?" The confusion makes Hector careless and his question only answered with a brusque "Shut up!". The four warriors wordlessly take him in the middle, as they head north back to the camp. Every thought of escape is useless. Of course.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hector notices one of Ajax's slaves spitting in his direction. Antiochus seems to take the insult personally and gives the offender a bad blow with his armored hand and Hektor wishes he had not done it, cementing his position as a valuable asset. He sighs inaudibly and looks straight ahead.

The way back seems astonishingly short today, and with each step the restlessness grows in his heart. Everything is better than doing forced labor, but he really can not imagine what they want him to do, and none of his guards are about to tell him.

To his surprise, they do not take him to Achilles, but farther off to where the accompanying merchants camp. At first they send him to a bath and he barely avoids pointing out that they could’ve save themselves that kind of trouble did they not send him back to the dirt every day. Also, he enjoys the hot water too much, even if it seems strange to him that he can still see his four companions from afar, who probably represent his bodyguard for the day.

The hot steam rising from the wooden tubs not only clouds the tent, but also his senses and he even manages to imagine for a while that he is simply back home in Troy, in his own rooms, and that he has nothing left to do but riding with his father's horses. 

The warm water burns pleasantly on his sore skin and numbs the pain. After all the dirt is scrubbed off of him, he is given oils, sandalwood and patchouli, and soon he smells as if he has fallen into a perfume dealer’s amphora, but all in all, the smell in his nose is a more than pleasant change from his current everyday life.

The enjoyment passes quickly, however, as the owner of the place, a feisty little man with a balding head, approaches with scissors and a comb. Although Hector spares himself the humiliation of active resistance and endures the procedure as dignified as possible, he can not quite prevent him from feeling a lump in his throat as his hair falls inch by inch. They cut his mighty mane up to barely above the shoulders. It will take years to reach a respectable length again.

At least the little man lets his beard in half-length stubble, a little longer than the Greek fashion demands, but it still can not be called decent either, and when he glances at his reflection on the way to the dressing-room, he seems younger by a few years, a boy, who just started grwoing hair on his chest, not the real man whom he considers himself to be.

When his hair, which now feels surprisingly light, has dried again, a few women start braiding it with golden clips and pearls that are supposed to be inspired by Trojan fashion but are definitely too showy for his taste. The irony of the whole is not lost on Hektor.

They give him a piece of fabric of exquisite quality, probably from the mountains, he has seen those patterns. The shiny embroideries on the dark blue ground stand out in gold. If it were a tunic, he really might have worn it at his father's court. But it is little more than a long loincloth and therefore a ridiculous thing.

The servants of the house continue to decorate him with jewelry, until Hector clinks softly with every movement. His wrists are still bristling with iron clasps, but this does not stop those around him from fitting both of his upper arms with gold hoops that uncomfortably restrict his biceps. The only thing they leave bare, much to Hector's regret, are his feet, but his ankles are soon adorned with several bracelets.

The chains and wide jewels around his neck cover his key and sternum and reach down to his chest just enough to still display Achilles' seal, now white-scarred. The jewelry seems almost obscene to him, he is sure that he carries several hundredweight. As difficult as it is for him to stand up, it's no comparison to the hard work in the woods, so he still proudly stays upright.

The fact that the little guy in the end pierces his ear lobes with a glowing iron, so that gold can also be stuck through them, too, hardly surprises Hector anymore. He is just glad that the rings are discreet, at least in comparison and much unlike the black ash with which a young girl then paints his eyes.

When they finally let go of him, Hector can see in the mirror how big his eyes suddenly appear, and quickly averts his gaze. He cannot bear his own sight, which now shows the travesty of a Trojan nobleman, exaggerated and almost completely adjusted to the Greek taste, but only almost. Hector is pretty sure that's the intention.

He doesn’t know what this whole game is about, and he does not have much time to think about it, because at last Antiochus and the others - Dimitrios, Miltos and Peros, he has realised by now - come to him. They look bored, have been standing around for quite a while now, and seem almost as relieved to get away from here as he is.

The sky in the west is turning blood red and for a while the five men silently walk next to each other.

"What exactly did I do to deserve those honors?" Hector asks, without bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. There was too much effort put into his appearance for one of them to dare nullify the work of hours with a thoughtless blow. No Answer.

"And when does Achilles treat you guys to such a luxurious free day?" He adds, and this time, Antiochus lets himself get carried away to answer.

"You'll miss the joke, Trojan." He snorts. But Hector is pretty sure he saw a small grin on Miltos' lips and is satisfied with that for the moment.

Again, they do not lead him back to the camp of the Myrmidons, but deep into the tent rows of the Greeks, past Odysseus' and Ajax' people and slowly he can feel a certain uneasiness creep up his spine. There is a brief commotion as their little train meets a larger one, also Achilles' people, and joins them. Achilles advances about five rows ahead of them while Hector has to stay behind.

"Where are we going?" He asks, this time without any hint of irony.

Antiochus whispers rather than speaks: "To Agamemnon. He's holding court tonight."

Hector feels his heart turn to ice.


	7. Service well fulfilled

Agamemnon knows him, he will recognize him him. Of course, it has been more than nine years since he was a guest at Menelaus' court, but he was there as an invited guest. He scarcely remembers the king's brother, only vaguely knows that he disliked him. But can he hope that he himself will have such luck in return? And what if Menelaus will be there? He will surely recognize the brother of the man who stole away his wife.

As they approach Agamemnon's courtyard, a pillared building, one of the few bricked here, Hector muses on escape, feverishly considering how to evade this evening and knowing it's futile. All he can hope for is that the servants' craftsmanship covers enough of his face that no one will recognize him.

He has to take a deep breath as they step through the large arched doorway and from inside the laughter and the music of the guests can be heard.

The building is one-storied, but spacious. After only a few meters, Hector has already lost track of where exactly their little squad came from. Again and again, Achilles stops to talk to the bystanders and Hector uses these short breathers to get some orientation. Apart from Achilles, his party includes Menesthios, Eudoros, Peisandros, Phoinix, and Alkimedon, as well as young Patroclus, who is always in Achilles' vicinity, as Hector notes with a bitter notion.

The rooms they pass by seem to serve different purposes: firstly, Agamemnon's commanders must live here, a luxury compared to what he is used to from the Myrmidons. But also a large part of the war trophies seems to be stored inside and Hector wonders if the money is only distributed here or whether Agamemnon’s share is really as disproportionately large, as it seems.

When they finally step through another stone archway into the heart of the festival, Hector tends more to the latter. It's not that the hall is ornate or richly decorated. In comparison to the Trojan palaces or what he knows from his trips to Greece, the equipment is downright barren. A ring of pillars lines a pool of water in the middle of the room, bronze fire bowls burn between the pillars, and the exits and windows are draped with curtains. No rich gold ornaments, carvings or statues, just a few awkward and sometimes obscene murals. But for a siege building, the decadence brought up is almost overwhelming.

  
And not only in the interior. As they pass the crowd, Hector tries to absorb as much of his surroundings as possible. The pillars of the circle are filled with divans, on which a large part of the Greek heroes are already seated. He thinks he recognizes Odysseus and Nestor, but he is not sure. They all seem to have given the wine a good deal, laughing and blaring to the music played by some of the minstrels in a back corner of the room. Most of the nobles have slaves, male and female alike, half in their arms, half pulled on their laps, some both, let them hand over grapes and cheese or kneel at their feet. The slaves themselves seem to come primarily from the surrounding areas, some must have been brought here by more exotic military campaigns of the Greeks. If Trojan citizens are among them, Hector doesn’t know them. They all carry the same petrified, submissive expression that he himself has adopted, and he wonders if he has lost so much of his dignity as to be undetected among them. Only a few seem to enjoy themselves or have to pretend and agree with the laughter of the Greeks, even if there is always something forced even desparate attached to it. Few of the women have their breasts covered, and Hector feels pity for the weaker and more shameful gender. They all wear loincloths and in most cases they are shorter than his own. In general, the costume of the slaves differs rather in detail: tantalizing and colorful, no real clothes, but embellishment of a special treat. Many of the handcuffs he sees are also gold and, unlike his own, seem to serve only decorative purposes. After all, they still see him as enough of a threat to warrant real bonds. In comparison, he himself is only scarcely decorated, he sees men who are barely recognizable among the golden chains and the  women are burdened with huge hair jewelry and even larger earrings. Even the faces are partially covered with silk scarves, as is customary in Eastern palaces, or worse, with gold chains attached to a nose ring across the face and tied to earrings or hair, as if they were meant to be lead around on a leash like bulls. Hector turns away and wishes he had not.

For a gracious moment, his mind does not quite believe what he is presented with, but there is no doubt that without any restraint, without shame, in the midst of the crowd, he can make out some lords who are copulating with their slaves in everyone's eyes as if there were no decency in this world. He now also notices that some unfortunates do not only kneel at the feet of their owners, but put their mouths to good use, and none of the other guests seems to be bothered in the slightest. Undeterred they continue to feed, drink, talk and something in Hector’s stomach contracts painfully.

Why did Achilles bring them here? Ashamed, he drops his eyes, tries to preserve some decency, but now that he has seen the magnitude of Greek decadence, he can not easily forget it.

His only consolation at this moment is that he has little time to complain about his predicament, for Achilles now walks purposefully through the sea of revelers to Agamemnon, who sits enthroned on a broad divan at the head of the room, with no less than four naked women and a young man gathered around him.

He still looks just as feisty and uncomfortable as in Hector's memory. His long hair falls gray now, but no less stringy in the forehead, his body mass, if possible, has grown even more and his face is red and greasy with the heat of the flames, carnal love and wine. The latter Agamemnon seems to have enjoyed of even more than the rest of his band. He grunts and laughs stupidly as he grabs the butt of one of the girls who is trying as hard as she can to hold a silk scarf around her hips but fails.

In fact, it's a miracle that this fat old libertine, who has never sought revenge on his horned brother, but pried on the wealth of Troy, has not long since whored and drunk himself into an early grave. But he sits before him, alive and jolly, and enjoys the treasures that others have stolen for him. Anger rises in Hector.

"Kneel down!", Peros hisses on his right behind him and knocks him in the knees, so that Hektor involuntarily complies with his instruction, which in this case was probably even a well-intentioned piece of advice. The pain as his bare knees touch the flagstones briefly numbs his anger and he does not look up as the Greeks bow to their main leader.

For the first time, Hector is grateful for his impossible haircut, as the streaks fall loose in his face and hide his features, distract from him and make Agamemnon forget he's even there. Maybe, if he's lucky ...

"So this is your newest toy, Achill?" Hector did not realize that Achilles and Agamemnon had stopped exchanging polite remarks and realizes that Agamemnon meant him when the Greek gets up and strides towards him.

Achilles nods. "Yes, he tried to attack my people when we plundered their temple. Since then, I saw it as my obligation to teach manners to our Trojan host." Laughter of the bystanders follows Achilles' joke and makes Hector's blood boil higher, but it would still be unwise to look up.

"I was told that you spend a lot of time with him. Are your trials bearing fruit?"Agamemnon's footsteps stop right in front of him. If he looks right now, if he recognizes him, then Hector can only pray for a gracious, swift death.

"Well, depends on your point of view." If Hector did not know better, he might think that Achilles, too, feels uncomfortable with this conversation, as elusive as his answers are. "For my part, I'm having fun."

A brief silence follows in which Hector believes that he hears his own heartbeat despite the deafening noise around him.

He gasps in surprise when Agamemnon's hand slides under his chin forcing him to look up at the man in front of him. Angry, he stares at him. Small and dark, red-rimmed and not quite focused, Agamemnon's eyes stare back. At last, Hector is reasonable enough to turn away his gaze in a mix that might be interpreted as defiance or subservience, while Agamemnon continues to look at him with undisguised greed.

"A nice boy, without a doubt. That's not a simple thing you've picked, Achill. Always a connoisseur, weren’t you?"

"Thank you. Life is too short to choose inferior quality. "As polite as Achilles' words may sound, this time Hector is sure he hears some tension in them. Frantically he breathes in and out, praying that something other than his own features may attract Agamemnon's attention. But he has no luck.

"Tell me, Trojan, who was your father?" Feverishly, Hector thinks, can not think clearly.

"I…"

"You do not know!" Contentment and almost childlike joy. "I thought so! Achill, that must be one of Priamos' bastards. I recognize those eyes, those lips."

Achilles seems little convinced. "We did not find anything that hinted on him being an important man."

"Oh, he isn’t! I'm sure old Priam has begotten hundreds of them. But believe me: he is one of those. You do not find that exquisite look in the gutter. "

Achilles prepares to move. "Might be. Either way, he sweetens my nights. "

Agamemnon makes a gesture with his left, which Hektor can not quite make out from his current position. He squeezes Hektor's jaw with his right hand so that he has to show part of his teeth and suddenly Hector feels like one of the horses he used to buy from mountain farmers.

  
"I have not had such a beautiful man for a long time," continues Agamemnon more to himself. "Tell Achilles, what do you want for a night with him?" Even Hector can feel how charged the mood is at once. Achilles' voice sounds much closer as he answers: "You know me! I do not share what's mine.“

For a moment, it seems the situation could escalate. No one's hand is on a sword pommel, but Hector can feel the tension. "But it would be my pleasure to send him to you later. He will pay homage to you and what you dream of is completely yours." Hektor does not believe for a second that Agamemnon is happy with this answer, but at least he does not demand anything further. The Myrmidons commend themselves, and as Achilles finally takes his place on his own diwan, Hector has to breathe in and out several times before his heartbeat calms down. He is grateful to Peros, who comes to him and instructs him in quick, concise terms, where he can fetch wine for the myrmidonic leaders and how he has to wait on them. Hector quickly recomposes and begins to fulfill his duties as efficiently and unobtrusively as possible. It is not easy to move through the confusion of the crowd, but with some skill he succeeds in imitating the attitude of the other slaves and does not collide with anyone’s intentions. When he brings food and drink to Achilles for the first time that evening, he just nods his head and leaves him to his duties. The rest of Achilles' warriors present are setaed behind them. The Myrmidonian heroes are unpretentious, Hector knows their preferences from the smaller gatherings in Achilles' tent, and he does not mind too much serving them. Soon he has brought them enough to have a brief moment for himself, in which he stands idly and perplexed in the crowd until Miltos first throws him a clear look and then let his eyes wander further forward. Hektor understands the hint and takes a deep breath.

  
He steps into the circle of where the leaders sit and holds his gaze on the ground, this time not to adapt to his environment, but because he does not know if he could bear the shame of his service otherwise. With luck, one may take his restraint as humility, at least he slides slowly and as elegantly as he can down next to Achilles. He lies on his divan and orders Hector to come closer. "Give me wine, Agathon." Hector grabs the pitcher he has set down a few minutes ago at the end of the divan, refills Achilles' cup and carefully hands it to him with both hands by sliding closer to him. Achilles straightens a bit, grasps his wrists brashly, as if he too is no longer completely master of his senses, and pulls Hector tight. To his surprise he can not smell  the slightest wine in Achilles' breath. Achilles takes a deep breath and leans Hector's nape. A shiver runs over Hector's back. Then Achilles takes a deep gulp and carefully examines every shiny new detail on Hector's body. "Your master enjoys your loo, Agathon," Achilles proclaims loud enough so that one can certainly understand him one or two more niches away. He looks expectantly at Hector. The reaction is delayed, but quiet enough, so that it definitely must be seen as humility now. "Thank you, mylord." Achilles' fingers wander into Hector's curls and pull him closer to him. "Only they meant a little too well with the oils." Even in a whisper, Achilles sounds mischievous and Hector is so relieved to see something of the Achilles he has go to know in recent weeks, that he is getting carried away and whispers back: "It was not my decision to stink like an Assyrian harem."

He finds it difficult not to tune into Achilles' laughter, which is the first honest and pleasant tone in this place so far. He only smiles softly when Achilles asks him, "Well, how do you like the party?"

This time, Hector is confident enough to lower his head in a seemingly flirtatious gesture and bring his lips close to Achilles' ear.

"Oh, not bad. It teaches such gratefulness "

Surprised and not quite serious, Achilles raises an eyebrow. "Oh yes? What on earth does a slave learn to be grateful for in this place? "

Half jokingly and with only a touch of seriousness, Hector answers: "For not having to wear a nose ring."

Achilles laughs again, but he seems to understand that Hektor does not find it easy to pretend. He carefully strokes his cheek. The sight of his deference, of his respect for Hector's wit, fills him with satisfaction and, however much he hates to admit, with a certain pride.

Hector does not start when Achilles' lips suddenly and suddenly press against his. The kiss is so gentle and reserved that Hektor barely notices what's happening. One moment he tastes wine and a touch of honey and spices and the next one it's over again, only a slight tingling remains on his lips. He is too surprised to react immediately. Is Achilles drunker than he thought? Does he want to fit into the picture or is his patience with him at its end? Hector does not believe any of it. There is no want or demand in Achilles' deed, only the spontaneous gesture of affection.

Without thinking about it, Hektor bends over and reciprocates the kiss. Why, he can ask that later. Again wine and honey, a little longer this time, and also stubble, gently scratching his cheek.

Achilles seems as surprised as he is. When he breaks away from him, Hector thinks he sees a brief regret in Achilles' eyes, but he does not demand anything, just stares at him with deep blue eyes, lost in thought. Then he finally sits up and holds out his cup to Hector.

"Drink, Agathon!"

He is briefly confused, before he gratefully and greedily receives the gift from Achilles' hands. Whether it's the wine or the slowly declining tension, he does not know exactly, but a pleasantly warm tingling spreads in Hector's stomach. It's not enough to make him feel good, not at all. His pulse is still running too fast and he desires nothing more than to leave Agamemnon's halls.

But Achilles' possessive nature certainly has advantages in this case: like a spell, his openly expressed interest in Hector keeps all aggression away from him. With Achilles nearby feels as secure as is possible in this place, and he does not believe that anyone in the room will dare to offend him. Achilles' hand rests softly but not too heavy on his hip and in conversation they come so close to each other again and again that it is easy for Hector to suppress everything else, to convince themselves that they are alone, and the time is simply theirs to enjoy.

  
Even the other guests, who come to Achilles time and again to speak to the greatest hero among the Greeks, hardly disturb Hector. He has never appreciated this kind of empty-handed skirmishing conversations at such festivities, and now uses them to get new wine under the pretense of serving, which usually gives him a welcome pause. How gladly he would have taken those liberties in his father's court! He thinks back to the endless evenings he spent with his brothers at banquets for men whom he neither knew nor respected, and had to make a good face to a boring game. Except that he was still one of the main characters there and constantly held the responsibility for the success of whole trade relations on his shoulders. If this were not the immoral orgy, the open provocation that it is, but a normal feast, Hector could almost enjoy having to worry only about whether his companions still have enough to eat and drink.


	8. Misfortune

But as time goes on, the feast becomes even more exuberant and unrestrained and Hector notices how he returns faster and faster to the Achilles‘ divan, avoids the other revelers and is almost glad when Achilles‘ arm wraps warm and strong around him. The touches that made him uncomfortable at first seem amazingly normal. It's strange how quickly one gets used to such things, but who is he to complain about small graces? Sighing in resignation, he leans into the embrace and closes his eyes. As he waits for his pulse to calm, another warrior steps closer much to Hector’s annoyance. He is exhausted, it is deep in the night and at some point everything has to be said, every song to be sung, every wine to bedrunk. But Achilles greets the newcomer as an old friend, and as soon as the opportunity arises, Hector rises. This time, hoowever, Achilles holds him back by the wrist and Hector looks around in surprise. "Where are you heading, Agathon?" Achilles does not ask reproachfully, but Hector can not figure out his intention. He would have replied with a snippy remark a second ago, but now ... Now they are being watched. He doesn‘t know who the Greek is. He doesn’t seem very interested, but he does watch him. Not Achilles, but him. So Hector only frowns for a moment and answers as carefully as possible: "I wanted to bring you and your guest wine, mylord." A headshake of Achilles' is the answer. "No, we have enough."

Hector is about to sit down again, when Achilles continues: "Go, Agathon! Thank our host for his invitation! And when he has received food and drink from you, come back. "

Actually, he should have expected that. But perhaps Hector has hoped to the last that Achilles and Agamemnon have forgotten what they have promised each other. He isn’t certain whether Achilles has seen the fear in his eyes, and if that’s the reason he briefly tightens his grip on his forearm, or if he has just imagined it, but he takes a deep breath and straightens.

"As you wish, mylord!"

Again he fetches some of the pork roasting over the fire outside the hall and puts it in a bowl. Then he takes a deep breath and returns to the feast.

This time he walks through the crowd with his head held high and he does it on purpose. If he has to meet Agamemnon anyway, he can do it proudly. The old man will now be close to delirium and has not recognized him before, so why should he not preserve a little of his dignity? He will do nothing stupid, nothing to provoke a fight he can not escape, but he will not crawl either.

Agamemnon lets him wait, probably on purpose. For some time Hector just stands aside in front of the steps and waits to be sent to the leader of the Greeks. Well, it's not his meal that is getting lukewarm. But although he knows it's calculation, he can not resist gritting his teeth. Then, when he's about to smash the brown clay on the tiles, Agamemnon finally waves him over.

For the second time that night Hector strides up the stairs and kneels down.

"Aaaah, the Trojan bastard!" Hector takes a deep breath and waits. "And what brings you to me?" Agamemnon continues, without stopping to grope the breasts of the girl in his arms.

"I bring you from the pork, with the best wishes from my master Achilles." Hector knows he didn’t have to say who exactly sends him, but in the presence of this man, the sound of Achilles' name calms Hector immensely.

A wink from Agamemnon's fat, over and over-ringed fingers orderss him to come closer. Reluctantly, Hektor obeys and gets up.

"I did not tell you to stand up, bastard," Agamemnon barks. When Hector realizes what was actually expected of him, it sickens him the one hand, on the other hand, he is now too far that he could fix his mistake, and just quickly sinks back to the ground.

"Excuse me, mylord!" He says, almost choking on the words. "I don’t always understand your language that well." That's a bold lie. His Greek has never been bad, he has learned it since he was eleven, and in recent weeks, the last remnants of his accent have disappeared, but Agamemnon seems to believe the words. At least he tells his slave to take away what Hector has brought, and he thanks all the gods he knows that he does not have to feed the treats to Agamemnon. The fact that he now kneels at his feet and the Greek begins to run his hands through his hair is already agony enough.

Could anyone see him at this moment who knows who he is Hector thinks he should instantly die of shame. He concentrates on his breath. It's a technique he knows from combat: the more the warrior controls his breath, the easier it is to ignore the pain. Agamemnon’s touch leaves a burning trail on his scalp and he doesn’t believe that he will be able to wash it away anytime soon.

Finally, Agamemnon finishes his meal and pushes away the dish.

"Not bad, boy. There's nothing like eating in good company. "

  
Hector knows he should look up to him and somehow he does it. "I am glad if you liked it, mylord!"

Agamemnon seems disappointed. "So keep me entertained, then. I've seen Achilles laugh a lot tonight, you must be an interesting boy! "

There are many things that Hector wants to do, and talking to Agamemnon certainly is not one of them. So he evades again. "I can not judge that, mylord. It was mostly master Achilles who led the conversation. I'm just a simple slave. " He wonders shortly if he has become too bold, at least Agamemnon looks ever more dissatisfied.

"Damn, the Myrmidone really taught you manners! Well! If I can not have fun with you, at least get me some wine." Relief takes over Hector. He just wants to get up and leave, but Agamemnon snarls: "Not the cheap fuss out there! Bring me my own."

Only now does Hector realize that there is actually a barrel nearby and he rolls his eyes. This man really knows no measure. "As you please, mylord!" The faster he gets over with this, the better. Carefully, he takes Agamemnon's cup, a huge chalice made of coarse-burnt clay, and moves to the side. The amphora is only half full, although certainly eight men could have had a good drink for an evening from it.

Hector has to bend down low to reach the wine, trying hard not to be too clumsy, which is not made easier by someone bumping into him from behind. Desperately Hector tries to keep his balance, but is caught by an unknown hand and wishes at the same moment, it would not be so. He doesn’t have to turn around to know that it is Agamemnon who has his arm around his waist. All of a sudden, everything happens very slowly. He feels Agamemnon catching him, can hear his excited gasp and smell his stinking breath. He himself is petrified, does not know what to do. Can he dare call for help or is he making a fool of himself, worse, does he even provoke an incident with it?

The decision is taken from him. As he feels Agamemnon's aroused cock press against his back, Hector recoils wildly and involuntarily. He slips Agamemnon's grip and wants to get away, but is still caught by his damned earring which tears him from his ear. The pain does barely move Hector, but the jolt makes him lose his grip on the cup, and he can not prevent it falling to the ground, where it shatters into a thousand pieces and covers the floor at Agamemnon's feet with wine.

Hector is too surprised to react, and before he can grasp what has happened, Agamemnon's blow has sent him to the remains of the chalice. Hector's head turns. He is only half-aware of the little turmoil that has formed around them, but for some reason he can not make his mind think about anything other than that he has to pay attention to the shards.

"You damned whore!" Agamemnon's roar reaches his ear as if from far away. "Has Achilles not only fucked your virginity, but also every decency from your body?"

Decency. To hear the word from these lips is so absurd that Hector almost laughs. But suddenly he doesn’t feel like laughing anymore. He looks up to Agamemnon and a murderous rage takes possession of him. This man is to blame for his misery. Without him, there would be no war. Menelaus would never have gone that far. Only Agamemnon could not be satisfied, was too greedy, is responsible for the siege, the war, his present situation.

Hector sees Agamemnon raise his hand again.

"I will still teach you-" Hector knows, even before he sees it, that it is Achilles who halts Agamemnon’s arm and he is grateful for the speed of the Greek, as it grants him time to bite down his anger.

"Let it be good!" Hector can’t fathom how Achilles manages to sound so good-natured right now. "He is incompetent, but that is why he is a slave."

"Achilles, your whore may be allowed to such a thing in your tent, but here, here I am your lord!" Agamemnon says. A small group of people has clustered around them watching the spectacle.

"Of course you are! Nobody doubts that!" But Hector can see that some of the Greek leaders are frowning, evidently shaken by Agamemnon's raving, and with some satisfaction he realizes that he has not presented himself here worst.

"I demand satisfaction, Achilles! Your slave has stained my feast, there must be consequences."

"And consequences will happen. But you cannot possibly let an insignificant Trojan spoil your evening."Achilles still tries to appease, but without success.

"No, certainly not!" Agamemnon spits out the words downright derogatory. "As soon as I have had him flogged and blinded, I'm sure I'll be better."

Agamemnon takes a step towards Hector, as if he wants to follow his threat with direct action and Achilles steps between them, much to the displeasure of Agamemnon. "Get out of my way, Achilles!"

But he makes no move to give way. "This is my slave Agamemnon. He is subject to my responsibility and I will punish him as I see fit."

Achilles looks around her briefly in the awkward silence. "And I tell you, this feast is neither the place nor the time for it."

It looks like Agamemnon is about to reply, but one of his followers comes to him and puts his hand on his shoulder soothingly. "Achilles is right, Agamemnon!" It is Odysseus who speaks, as Hector realizes with astonishment. "Do not stain the evening with anger. I'm sure Achilles will take care of everything else."

Nodding and gruffing Agamemnon shakes off Odysseus' hand. "Thou shalt have thy will, Achilles. But make sure he behaves for the rest of the evening."

As if Hector had been guilty of anything at all this evening! As if he did not do everything to fulfill his role! One day he will face Agamemnon on the battlefield, one day there will be nothing between them except the swords in their hands. And on that day, Hector will beat that arrogant creep out of the big grin, will not rest until Agamemnon's body is bloodstained in the sand in front of him, he swears silently.

  
Only today is not that day. "As you command!" Achilles speaks quietly again. It's amazing to see the otherwise quick-tempered man so carefully. "Agathon, clean up the mess!" He points to the pathetic remains of the wine goblet and Hector clenches his fists for a moment before he succeeds in following the order. Carefully, he seeks out the largest pieces, then collects the smaller ones. Agamemnon has withdrawn between his slaves and the rest of the Greeks continue to celebrate as if nothing had ever happened, which is only fine with Hector. Achilles, however, stays close and Hector does not think that's a coincidence. He pulls himself up under the watchful eyes of the two army leaders and carries the remnants of the pitcher to a bucket on the edge of the room, where the remnants of the festival are collected. There he also finds water and towels and quickly sets about scrubbing the wine stains off the floor. It is the first time in his life that Hector is wiping a floor and he can not say that he likes this experience. On all fours he kneels in sight of Agamemnon and Achilles and wishes he had finished, but the wine proves to be astonishingly persistent. His hands are already burning as he finally wrings out the wet fabric one last time and removes the last remnants of the accident. Only now that his hands are clean again, can he see that it was never wine that stuck to them, but the blood of numerous small cuts, which he probably has contracted in the fall.

Again he clenches his fists and steps in front of Achilles, who only nods to him and silently orders him to follow his lead. His expression is blank and Hector wonders if Achilles is really angry with him. As the mood recovers all too quickly from the small break, it now seems even more decandent. They return to Achilles' divan, but joy does not return into the circle of Myrmidons. Achilles makes conversation, jokes as before, but under the careless mask Hector believes to recognize a certain thoughtfulness. He himself spends the rest of the evening at Achilles' feet.

 


	9. Safety

It is not morning yet, but well past midnight, when they finally, finally leave. Hector is so exhausted and generally so tired of the situation that he has trouble keeping up with the Myrmidons. He quickly struggles to show no sign of it and follows them as submissively as he came. The cold night air awakens his spirits and Hector feels as with each step falls a little more of the burden that weighs on his mind. Even so, without Dimitrios' clue, he might even have missed it, but it's true: on his way out of the hint he probably wouldn’t have notices the passing soldiers who eye them suspiciously and whisper about their squad (or him specifically?). The adrenaline in his veins makes him more alert and Hector keeps looking around suspiciously even when they have long leftthe last tent rows of Agamemnon's men behind.

The Myrmidons laugh and joke with each other as they march east behind their leader in rank and file. Hector does not care about their conversations and does not look for anyone's eyes. Above them, the stars glitter cold and clear in the night sky.

Hours must have passed when they finally arrive at the Myrmidon camp, at least that's how Hector feels. Phoinix and Alkimedon bide their farewells, the others too. Only his bodyguard consisting of Antiochus, Peros, Miltos and Dimitrios follows them to the hill. Achilles waves them away. "He knows the way. And I do not think he dares to attempt a hopeless escape tonight." At his hint, Peros pulls off his chains, holds the tent open, and, without looking back, Hector enters. It is dark, of course, but Hector now knows this tent better than his own rooms at home by now.He starts to light the oil lamps and the warm light falls gently on his face, the scent of the oil mingles with the familiar odor that this place holds for him, and finally Hector realizes that this evening, perhaps most dangerous of his previous captivity, has come and gone.

Achilles has not joined him yet, is still talking to Dimitrios. Hector is alone. Without warning, a chill hits him and he sinks to the soft ground next to the bedsite. Trembling, he stops and waits for the attack to pass. It's a mixture of pent-up fear and irrational exhilaration about his success. He survived. He has looked Agamemnon in the eye, tied and disarmed, and yet he lives!

Only when Achilles kneels down behind him and his arms embraces him does Hector return to the here and now. Relieved, he exhales air he didn’t know he held, and gasps for breath, while he remains tense at first and then, when Achilles says nothing, sinks into his arms.

"I did not mean to annoy you!" Hector doesn’t ask for fogiveness, he has no reason to, but voices honest regret to have worried the leader, who is responsible for the welfare of his people. His voice is rough, but at least not fragile.

He feels Achilles shake his head. "Agamemnon was looking for trouble. He has been for a while. He sees a competitor in me and you had to pay the dues for that.”

The honesty surprises Hektor. He did not really expect irrepressible anger as Achilles is above such worldly pettines, but the admission is astonishingly self-aware.

A hand slides to his injured right ear and quietly the pain makes itself felt again. Hector stiffens a bit and Achilles sighs. "We should take care of it."

He wants to get up, probably to fetch water, and now it is Hector who holds him back by the wrist and pulls him towards him so that they kneel face to face and stare at each other. Hector breathes deeply, then gathers his courage and lowers his head to press his lips on Achilles' hand, which he holds firmly in his. He looks up at him through heavy eyelids. "That can wait. We’ve had a nice evening and it would be sad if it found such an early end."

He cannot quite interpret Achilles' look. There's a remnant of the rampant hunger he saw here on his first night, surely. But also honest surprise, which makes Hektor smile, and something deeper, darker. Achilles wants him, more than anything else. Then he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "You owe me nothing, Agathon. Not for telling off that old bastard."

Hector wants to laugh, but he does not bother. "I know." He utters the words without any explanation, just describing a fact.

For the first time, it is he who puts one hand on the other's cheek to turn his gaze to him. His push is successful and he can see the unspoken question fading from Achilles' eyes. Instead, there is the spark of a fire that spurs him on.

With beating heart, he leans forward and overcomes the last distance between them. First cautious, then demanding, he presses his lips to those of Achilles. As soon as he touches him, it is as if his world has stopped.

Before Hector knows what happens, Achilles has straightened up on his knees and pulled him up to him. He wraps his left arm around him, pulling him close, while his right hand wanders through Hector's hair restlessly. For a moment he can’t breathe. Achilles is overwhelming.

This is not the playful coquetry of the past few hours, but Hector has made a decision and dispelled any doubt for the moment. He does not know how to kiss a man, has never done it before, so he just gives himself to the kiss, which is more demanding now, and quickly finds pleasure in it.

Hector has never known caresses that are so rough, so purposeful and demanding, but he can not say that he dislikes it. It's nice to know what Achilles wants, not having to guess what he might like and whether he wants the attention. And it gives him the freedom to demand the same.

He puts his left hand on Achilles' shoulder and feels coarse cloth and the hot skin underneath. With light pressure, he brushes aside the neckline of the tunic and quickly releases himself from the kiss to bow down a bit in front of Achilles. The movement makes the gold around Hector's neck ring and the sound suddenly sounds promising and intimate even to his own ears.

Achilles' skin tastes salty when Hector kisses the vacant spot on his neck and begins to follow his neckline. He can hear Achilles groan softly. The intoxication that this sound causes is indescribable. Encouraged, Hector turns his attention to Achilles' collarbone and leaves a hint of red. Only when he wants to go down to his chest does Achilles stop him. Again, his eyes look darker as Hector remembers them.

Achilles lets his hand wander down Hector's side and then begins to release his own belt, an invitation that Hector is only too happy to follow. Both their hands are hot and sweaty, it takes a moment for the leather belt to come undone and the silence falls heavy with nothing but the hectic breathing of the two men.

Then Achilles takes his tunic off with a single swift motion, which he throws aside carelessly before looking at Hector. He stops allowing his eyes to glide over Achilles. He has often seen him like this in the past and yet it seems to him that he sees him for the first time. The golden light of the lamps captures every muscle of the warrior, making them even more prominent. A model of martial virtue, indeed. At the neck and the arms one can see where the black armor has kept the sun away and interrupted the deep bronze tone of his chest. Achilles' shoulders are wide and strong and every inch of his skin is flawless. Hector cannot help it, he has to reach out for it.

Against all odds no lightning strike hits him when he dares to touch Achilles' body. Only a hot burning sensation spreads from Hector's fingertips, which gently follow the muscle strands. Achilles lets it happen and Hector can see that his touch leaves the hairs on Achilles' skin standing upright. He smiles and takes time to explore, letting his hands wander down to Achilles' hips. A brief tremor passes through Achilles' body.

Then Hector approaches the other man’s middle and pauses. He wants to continue his exploration, he knows that's what Achilles expects, and yet he can’t quite do it.

Before he can make a decision, Achilles interrupts his thoughts.

Achilles' hands on his back slowly move his spine down to his behind, reach the cloth that covers him and grope deeper. Hector feels his face getting hot. The unusual habit of approach makes him lick his lips, even though Achilles' touches are firm but not unpleasant.

As he releases Hector's back, Achilles reaches between them, where a gold brooch holds the loincloth, and with swift, skillful fingers he undoes it in seconds. The heavy fabric glides down to the ground, leaving Hector completely bare and unprotected against Achilles. The thought of how vulnerable he now feels strikes his mind for a fraction of a second, only to be destroyed by the splendor in Achilles' face. Hector returns the smile that Achilles gives him.

He now wraps around Hector with his left arm and presses him gently but firmly so that they finally touch each other completely. Achilles is excited, he can feel that clearly. The gods alone know how overwhelming the feeling is, and for a moment Hector’s head grows light withthe desire for the perfection of the other and the pride of being wanted by such a noble man.

Then Achilles leans forward, pushes him down with his whole body weight on the pillows behind. Hector remains motionless while Achilles straddles him breathing heavily.

In order not to remain completely inactive and to drive Achilles to continue, Hector reaches for his hips.

"You make me loose my mind," Achilles says, and Hector laughs a bit.

"I fully intend to," he replies, surprised at his own verve.

Achilles just shakes his head over this mischievous challenge and turns aside to the side table. Hector follows his movement with his eyes and realizes that Achilles reaches for the oil that stands there.

This time, his heart beats faster not only from arousal. Hector is not sure what he expected, he did not think much about how he imagined the progression of the night. Of course it will continue as it has ended on that inglorious first encounter. Only that he wants it this time, challenged it himself.

Hector closes his eyes. He will not show his fear. Man always fears the unknown most and not because it is bad, but only because it is unknown. He is aware of that and that's why he can do this without shying away like a pythia priestress. Carefully, he exhales and trusts that Achilles will know what he is doing.

"You worry too much, Agathon."

But Achilles shakes his head. "Thats not what I meant."

Even before Hektor can ask what exactly it is he meant, Achilles reaches for his shaft. His fingers are soft from the oil and glide gently over the sensitive skin, so Hector can not resist groaning. The tension becomes almost unbearable, making him forget his fears.

Then Achilles is above him and no matter what happens, Hector wants him, desires him, reaches out to him. Without any warning or fuss, Achilles settles above him and Hector invades him in one movement. For a second he is out of breath. For one thing, because he did not even dream that Achilles would allow this, even initiate it himself, that it is he who penetrates him. Also, Achilles' body feels so hot, so intense, so strong that Hector can no longer think clearly. The closeness he feels to Achilles surpasses everything he has experienced so far and fills his whole being.

The blond warrior seems just as lost in the moment. With his eyes closed and his lips pressed together, he kneels above him, his arms left and right of Hector below him. His nostrils tremble as his breath slowly becomes more even. Hector wonders if Achilles has done this before. Then the Myrmidone opens his eyes and as their eyes meet, Hektor knows the answer. The fire that burns in them is as hot as the forge of Ares, and just as consumptive and unruly.

Hot, his fingers brush Hector's cheeks, shoulders, chest, where they play with the chains, tracing the scars and making him shudder with burning intensity. He gasps Achilles' name and knows exactly that this sound will only increase the excitement of the other. Achilles finally starts to move above him. He straightens, archs his back a little and throws his head back. Nothing about his behavior is cautious or reserved. Achilles’ thrusts are quick and wild and without regard to his own. Every new thrust brings Hector closer to the edge of madness, and judging from the moaning, which now also eludes Achilles' throat, he feels the same.

Hector still can not quite grasp what is happening, he does not care at all about it. Involuntarily, he begins to move his pelvis, imitating Achilles' rhythm and feels his fingers wandering about his chest. Desperately they reach for the gold, as if the chains could hold him in his ecstasy, his fingernails scratch Hector’s chest and without stopping for a second he tears the jewelry.

Gold beads roll over blankets and hides, the clink of metal mingles with their moans and neither man is able to care, they are both lost in the moment and the other's body.

Hector first notices the trembling that engulfs Achilles even before he actually comes, and the sight of this absolute vulnerability and ecstasy is perhaps the most beautiful thing the gods have ever let him see: Achilles, who opens his lips lightly, tenses his whole body, and then collapse. He seems so vulnerable and young suddenly that Hector only wants to take him in his arms, but he does not pause, instead accelerates his movements with his last strength until Hector can no longer hold back and reaches his climax with a loud moan, just to remain lying exhausted under him.

Achilles' heavy breathing and his own heartbeat are the only sounds Hector now perceives. Then Achilles cautiously climbs down from him and Hector briefly feels the impulse to protest. The Myrmidon falls back with a thump, just as exhausted as Hector himself. He pulls him towards his chest and Hector lets it happen, leans his head on Achilles' sweaty shoulder and slides his hand over his chest.

The silence is dark and heavy around them. Hector thinks about what he should say, but he can’t think of anything. Achilles leans over and kisses his forehead. Hector looks over at him and smiles. For a long time they lie silently together, dawning in the twilight of the candles. They are almost asleep when Hector reaches out to address Achilles. "That was not wise, tonight. I'm glad for your interference, but it was not wise."

Achilles keeps his eyes closed, but Hector can hear the smile in his mumbled answer. "I told you, Agathon: you worry too much!"

And Hector sincerely hopes that the Greek is right this time.

 


	10. Hangover

The next morning Hector awakes late. He feels as if he had slept for a hundred days straight. His body is recovered, but he has forgotten what it's like to be active. Sighing, he rolls over and tries to reach for Achilles, but he is alone in their bed. He knows it should not bother him like this, but he can not prevent the morning from feeling a little stale.

He only hopes for Achilles to have left instructions so he will not be scolded once again that his one duty stands in the way of the others. For the first time, Hector wishes that Achilles would simply keep him in his tent as a pleasure slave instead of sending him back to the other workers half the time. Presumably he would go mad after three days of boredom, but at least he could spare himself the whole back and forth.

He just wants to get up to clean himself and put on some clothes, when the entrance sheets are pulled to the side and someone enters the tent. Hector quickly reaches for the blankets to cover his nakedness. He does not like Eumaeus, so he really doesn’t want to give him that triumph too.

"Don’t worry, there's nothing I have not already seen." The mockery in Achilles' voice is not biting, rather friendly, and Hector is too surprised to answer. Achilles is dressed already, but does not wear his armor only a tunic and brings food with him, bread and cheese, but also fruit and Hector wonders how rare these goods, which they rationed in the besieged years ago, are for the Greeks.

As Hector remains silent, Achilles laughs and sits next to him. "What? No greeting this morning?” He hands him an apple.

Hector finally finds his words again. "Thank you." He bites off, chews and swallows, then continues, "I thought you were already on the battlefield."

If Achilles is bothered by the lack of polite address, he doesn’t show it. He just shakes his head and explains, as he begins to bite down some of the bread: "Not today. The defensive walls on the northwest front must be reinforced. We need a lot of wood for that if you have not noticed. "

Hector throws him a withering look. "Oh really? If only you had workers to raise it!”

He goes on to eat his breakfast and Achilles laughs. "Good staff is so hard to come by!" Then he adds a bit more serious: "We need every man. And after all, it's not the quarries."

In chewing Hector pauses and frowns. Is Achilles really apologizing to him? He shrugs and reaches for the cheese. "All is fair in love and war, I suppose. And it is such a tremendous honor for me to be able to help my Greek masters." His voice drips with sarcasm, but he grins and believes that he can recognize a smile on Achilles' lips as well. "Should I go right now?"

Immediately, Achilles cuts him off. "Tomorrow. Today you will recover."

Hector raises an eyebrow. He cannot say that the hardships of the last few weeks have not taken their toll on him, but his mind is strong and one gets used to a lot.

Achilles does not answer, but he takes the food from his hands and holds them in his, until Hector looks down and remembers the cuts left by the shards on his skin. The wounds are already healing and with the calluses that the hard work of the past has left him, he barely noticed them. But they are fresh and deep enough that a thoughtless movement can rip them open again, he is sure of that.

  
"It's nothing," he tries to fend off, but Achilles is having none of it.

"Take care of yourself, Agathon!" He admonishes. "You are still mine, and if I tell you to look after my property, you will do so, understood?" At first Hector wants to retort, but at the last moment, he feels a slight anxiety under Achilles‘ assertiveness, and it touches him more than he would have believed. So he only sighs softly. "If that's what you want."

And he lets Achilles get some liniments and doesn’t protest when he starts wrapping bandages around hands. His earlobe is unrecoverably lost, he knows that, yet the herbal ointment applied by Achilles is pleasant and wholesome.

As they leave the tent together, Achilles proudly advancing to Hector, who remains at a respectful distance, the looks of the bystanders  almost don’t bother him. They spend the afternoon in the baths, which Hector can actually enjoy this time, and playing dice. Again, they are accompanied by Miltos and Antiochus, and their leader's behaviour around his slave seems to encourage them, for they, too, now talk to Hector, who responds with caution but also some wit at times.

Patroclus eventually joins them and brings new from the grapevine. Once again Hector is surprised by how young the man seems, probably not a day older than Paris, and he wonders if he would have allowed him to accompany him on such a dangerous raid. In the evening they sit in the camp, sing and laugh, even Eudoros does not speak about the war today and the camp of the Myrmidons happily cures the hangover of the previous night.

Only Eumaeus does not seem pleased with Hector's freedom, as though he fears he could after all this time reveal the treachery he committed against him. Apparently he does not know how well Achilles sees through his men. Hector shakes his head. It's a sign of the other's insecurity that he actually sees danger in him, but that's exactly what worries him. He thinks for a moment whether he should ask Achilles to send back Antiochus as a guardian tomorrow, but he rejects the thought quickly. If Eumaeus wants to mess with him, he will be ready.


	11. Tamer of horses

For the moment, however, Hector is relieved of this problem anyway, because, as Achilles has said, all of them are alloted to relocate the wood to the north and repair the walls and palisades there. This in itself is not a big change in his everyday life, but the slaves and guards are now joined by Greek warriors, especially the Myrmidons, so now he sees at least one of the five army leaders and also young Patroclus almost every day. It doesn’t lessen the hardship of thee work, however, the slaves are driven as mercilessly in the heat of summer as ever. But in a strangely familiar way, Hector feels more attached to the black warriors than the battered and resigned workers.

The inevitable escalation comes on one of the rare days when Achilles rides with them, somewhere at the end of the procession. Hector actually intended to use the opportunity to observe him closely, to fathom exactly what drives Achilles, what brings him here, keeps him away from the battlefield, at what discretion he comes to them or stays away. But this morning they did not just send him back on the road, but realized that he is still one of the stronger slaves, so he wears a yoke and two buckets of quarry stone to reinforce the defensive fences.

  
The humiliation of being held up like an ox weighs even more heavily on him than the wood, and accordingly late does Hector notice the turmoil behind him. It is too much effort to set one foot after the other in the dusty sand in front of him. His hair hangs in wet strands in his eyes and the sweat runs down his forehead, so he constantly has to blink to see anything at all. The cries of the men merely bother him. Only when the neighing of the horses reaches his ear does Hector listen closer. He stops and as no whip drives him on, he dares to look around, as far as the yoke permits. Further back in the train, trouble has broken out. Again and again, slaves evade the screams of their supervisors to the left and right of the path, in obvious panic, before quickly returning to rank and file in order not to face heavy penalties. As of now, this is not a major problem, but the core of the turmoil is steadily moving toward them, and while now the cries are still ringing up to them from the barren pastures at the bottom of the hill, they will soon reach the narrower paths, where there are only boulders piled up on the left and steep slopes lead into the riverbed below them on the ride, making it impossible to escape the path.

Patroclus, who rides far in front of him, probably noticed that too, because he quickly turns his horse around and gives spurs it on to get to the bottom of the problem.

Hector, suddenly wide-awake, seizes the opportunity and strips the wood that surpresses the back of his neck off, in order to climb on the car behind him and find out what is stopping the march.

At first he can only see a cloud of dust approaching at astonishing speed.

Then Hector realizes what's happening: A horse - he does not know if it's one of his own, but certainly a proud warhorse - has broken away from the ranks, racing in blind rage (fear, pain?) through the crowd, stepping out and bucking, carrying with him the rider on his back, who obviously has not the slightest chance to oppose to the forces of the animal.

Hector quickly assesses the situation: The horse is closing in, only a few hundred metres from his current location and nearing a bend of the pathway, the only possible location for an attempt to calm it down. He is just about to head down there, when Patroclus rushes past him, apparently with the same intention and alreadyHector knows that this can not go well.

The boy may be a promising warrior, but he is not a gifted rider.

Sure, he can move on horseback, but Hector seriously disputes that he has the sensitivity and the experience to calm a desperate creature and bring the horse and rider to safety.

He starts to run, but can hardly follow. Patroclus reaches the bend. But instead of unhooking and waiting for the panicked animal, he gives his horse the spurs and hurries on. Hector curses and runs faster. He is still a good 50 meters away from the unfortunates. The air stings in his lungs, but he does not care.

The screams are getting louder. As might be expected, the presence of a second driven horse does nothing at all to help the situation. Instead, it neighs loudly, puts his ears on and now also Patroclus' horse begins to rear up.

Time seems to pass more slowly as Hector watches Achilles' favorite being thrown out of the saddle. The boy is lucky in comparison. He does not tangle in the hem of the shying animal and is not thrown in the direction of the abyss. But he crashes with unchecked force against the stone wall and remains unconscious on the ground.

Hector closes his eyes for a second and tries not to think about it, that will not help. At least Patroclus’ horse seems not to know what to do, dances back and forth on the spot, but misses its discarded rider. The other animal can not pass and while the two horses block each other off, Hector finally reaches the scene of the action.

 

  
As soon as he is close enough, he stops. He takes a deep breath and straightens up to full size. Slowly and with raised hands he approaches the stout animals. It's hard to stay in both their fields of vision, but if he's careful, he'll succeed. Patroclus' horse is easy to control. The animal seems more confused than mad, so he decides to approach this one first. "Quiet, beauty, calm down!" He whispers to him in Luwian and no matter if it is really a Trojan or Hellenic horse, the calm tone he chooses draws its attention to him. When he tries for the first time to grab in the reins the horse still throws back his head, but Hector's second attempt is already crowned with success. He uses the leather straps to pull the horse closer, pats his nostrils briefly and guides it to the side. With luck, it will not be whipped up again. However, the black one continues to shy away and keeps on rearing. It is a big animal and wild, too. He should have been castrated long ago, but that was probably missed. A Greek is still clinging around the stallion's neck so as not to be thrown off and trampled. Hector puts his feet further apart, looking for a firmer stand, before slowly approaching the animal with his heart beating wildly in his ears. Every inch he gains is a success, but a dangerous one. He takes encouragement from the fact that the horse has not galloped over him long ago.

  
"Everything is fine!" He does not know what he is talking about, but he continues to whisper in a low tone of reassurance. He looks directly into the animal's eyes, trying to see what has upset it, and finds the answer as he lets his gaze glide to the flanks where blood stains the fur even darker. Apparently, the soldier has tried to ride the young, impetuous animal with sharp spurs without knowing how to handle it. Anger rises in Hector.

"I know, they hurt you." He reaches out a hand and the horse recoils, so Hector gives it time. They are now dangerously close to the abyss. "It will get better, for sure." Even slower, if that's even possible, he tries again. He can now see how the horse trembles with exhaustion and exertion, foam dripping from its mouth. When he finally touches its mane, relief floods his mind. The coat of the animal is sweaty, it must be on the verge of exhaustion. With a firm grip, he strokes the black hair, again and again, until the animal calms down slowly. He waits again, gives it more time, and even as it finally starts to snoop on his hand, he lingers for a while, before finally daring to lead it away from the abyss.

"There, take care of the horses and try not to hurt it any more, until someone comes along who knows what they’re doing!" He snaps at the Greek, who hangs on the horseback. Only when he reaches out to help him descend does he look at the man long enough to realize that it is Eumaeus who is looking down at him, angry and frightened at the same time. Hector tries to worry about being so bold with him and can’t find it in himself.

  
In order to stop dealing with the fool and to have something to do, he turns to Patroclus. He bleeds from a slight laceration on his forehead and is white as a chalk, but when he feels for his wrist, Hector finds his pulse regular and steady, which encourages him.

"We need water!" he yells, hoisting the lifeless body in front of him into a more comfortable position. He pats Patroclus' cheek and his eyelids start to flutter. A relieved smile spreads across Hector's face. With rest, plenty of water and even more shade the boy will recover, he is almost sure of that. Behind there are him are heavy steps and Hector wants to turn around and ask again for water when rough hands grab him and drag him to his feet.

"Back to your work, slave!" growls a soldier he does not know. Hector can hardly believe it. "The boy needs water!" he tries again, but without success. Meanwhile, a large part of the Myrmidons has gathered around them, as well as the tight space allows. They all must have seen from afar what has happened if he interprets the whisper of the bystanders correctly. Eumaeus seems to have recovered, he talks to Eudoros and gives him poisonous looks. The horses are being carefully led away by a few soldiers, and Peros and Miltos are approaching Patroclus.

An armored hand hits him in the stomach and Hector feels a brief flash of nausea. But before he sinks to the ground, the warrior holds him back. "I do not like to repeat myself, Trojan!"

At the moment Hector can not do much more. There will be time later to explain and his resources are limited anyway. Reluctantly, he lets himself be dragged away, and to make matters worse, his captor considers it necessary to chain him to the yoke this time, so that a second escape becomes more than impossible. It's ridiculous.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Achilles, who has finally joined them, rushing to Patroclus and carrying him away in his arms. As he watches the scene, Hector becomes sick again. The blow must have hit him worse than expected.

However, this is not taken into account, soon the guards have re-arranged the slaves and slowly they set in motion again. After just a few steps, Hector is dripping with sweat.

 


	12. Admiration

Hector half expected that they would simply leave him in the bustle of the day with the other slaves, and already prepared for an uncomfortable night under the open sky. But even today the Myrmidons make the effort to pick him up. Perisandros arrives with Dimitrios and Peros and the two soldiers release him from his yoke and Dimitrios has the presence of mind to support him briefly, until he has relieved his aching shoulders again.

It surprises him, but they do not complain about the detour they have to take for him, they fulfill this task like any other duty. In the camp itself, there is a light riot. Around the campfires they gossip like midwives, and Hector does not miss that he is curiously eyed from all sides.

After the day's hard work, Hector looks forward to finally getting some rest for a moment, but he is not taken to Achilles’ tent. Perisandros halts them in the middle of the square, which the warriors seem to use as a sort of gathering place, and where several boars are already cooking on skewers over the fire. He talks briefly with the bystanders and then leaves them behind. Apparently, he also wants to seek advice first.

Once their leader has vanished, a cluster of mercenaries gathers around them and Hector feels uncomfortably reminded of his first arrival in the Myrmidon camp. This time, however, no one is attacking him. They laugh and whistle appreciatively through their teeth and Hector does not know what to do.

"Not bad, Trojan!" It's Antiochus who finally addresses him directly. "We have already heard of your heroic deed."

Of course, the tone is teasing, but it also resonates with honest respect and Hector feels his chest swell with pride. He shrugs. "Not worth talking about it. It's not a great secret to know that you should not ride an uncastrated three-year-old with sharp spurs.”

The moment the words leave his lips, he discovers Eumaeus amongst the Greeks, who evidently escaped with a few bruises and a fright only. He tries to regret his words, but has been too much of a challenge and the laughter of the others is unanimous and contagious. He joins them and does not resist when they drag him to one of the fires where they give him meat and wine.

It's strange to sit among the men who, unlike himself, do not wear chains, but he has to admit they try. At least for tonight they treat him as one of their own and already after the second cup of wine Hector feels the tension drop from him. Should one of the captains feel disturbed by his exuberance, he will find out soon enough.

At any rate, the soldiers are not bothered on the contrary.

"Wine?" asks Dimitrios, who approached them from behind and is now greeted enthusiastically by Peros and Antiochus.

"Give us some, noble maid, we are all thirsting for more."

"Fools," laughs Dimitrios, but hands them amphora. Hector also jerkss up his empty cup. He forgets about his chains and has to struggle to not let the cup fall, but the two men beside him are too drunk or too tactful to comment on his limitations, and even if the shame burns hot in his stomach, Hector pulls himself together and shortly after accepts the filled cup from Dimitrios.

„Thank you, sir!“

Dimitrios drops down between them and pats him on the shoulder. „My pleasure. And you know my name is Dimitrios, right?“

Hector tilts his head. He briefly considers how far he should venture out of the cover and decides that it would be an insult to suspect evil intentions.

“Of course. But I also like my nosebone as a whole and have learned that the Greeks do not appreciate rudeness.”

Laughter from Peros and Antiochus.

"And it's this wisdom that keeps you alive," admits Dimitrios. "Nevertheless, I would be grateful if you do not blame us for the narrow-mindedness of our brothers."

In the light of the fire it is clear that all three watch him attentively. Hector sighs and raises his cup. "All right, Dimitrios! To not all Greeks being barbarians! "All three reciprocate his toast and the success makes Hector smile honestly.

He takes another sip and then nods in the direction of Miltos, who is about to prove himself in wrestling with one of Phoinix' men. "Speaking of hollering barbarians ..."

"Oh, don’t worry. He could defeat Anaximander in his sleep!” Perus waves dismissively.

"Miltos is old enough to take care of himself, I know that. Only ... " Despite all this, Hector is having a hard time with the question.

"Only ...?", Peros asks.

In one go, Hector empties half of his cup, then puts all the confusion he feels in his voice as he asks, "By Zeus, why are they naked?"

Again laughter from the Greeks. Hector has already understood that he is probably the only one who takes offense at it, but the custom just seems so weird. So he waits until they catch their breath and drinks in the meantime.

At some point, Antiochus wipes the tears out of the corner of his eye and answers, hardly containing his laughter, "Because they are training."

"And you have to be naked for that?"

„Well, that's the best way to observe the other‘s mistakes. And it automatically  makes a certain caution necessary. It's much more practical because nothing gets in the way.“

It seems even Antiochus knows that he does not sound very convincing. He adds somewhat succinctly: „And it is tradition.“

„Tradition ...“ Hector stares around in disbelief and realizes that they are serious. Shaking his head, he takes a deep sip. „Of course it is a tradition for the Greeks to fight naked.“

Again the others laugh at his unbelief. „It seems you need more wine, my friend“ Peros says, reaching for the amphora Dimitrios has brought. Hector accept gratefully.

  
"On the other hand" he interjects, as he lowers the cup, "if I think about it, you're right ..." Now it is up to the Greeks to stare at him in disbelief. "Well, I know that Antiochus here is a gifted rhetorician ..." Dimitrios pats Antiochus on the shoulder. "But he did not seem so convincing to me now."

"But of course" affirms Hector. "A truly noble tradition! You should give it more space. How about, for example, on the battlefield? If you have practiced this way, it would only be- "

"Silence!" interrupts Antiochus, but already the last syllable is submerged in drunken laughter. He puts an arm around Hector, who struggles to catch his breath as the others force him to empty the next cup. While they still sit together and palate, Miltos comes to them, who actually emerged victorious from the fight, but has thankfully dressed again. He asks what makes them so cheerful and, of course, the conversation must once again be retold and only becomes funnier with every sip of wine. Hector does not care that he is the reason for their amusement, firstly because they clearly laugh with him and not about him, secondly, because Miltos uses the narrative as an opportunity to confess to some of the mistakes of his youth and soon others begin to tell stories of their own that strangely enough only ever happened to the friend of a friend of a friend.

At first, Hector only listens, but eventually he no longer cares about what is clever and adds his own stories from the Trojan army, not just one at the expense of Paris, even if he does not reveal that.

Hector spends the evening half as an entertainment program, half as a brother in arms and for the first time in a long time he feels the hot burning of homesickness in his chest. Are his men also sitting around the fire with wine and laughter? Are his brothers still missing him, or did they abandon the black ribbons already in the face of the daily threat? Will he ever see his father again and take away the grief of believing his firstborn dead?

Not only Hector becomes more silent at some point, the others around him also become calmer, listening to the few of them, who start to sing solemn songs. You have to leave that to the Greeks, their music is beautiful and sometimes heartbreaking. Baffled, Hector stares into the fire and does not know whether he should enjoy the moment or indulge himself completely in his melancholy.

It is Peros’ elbow, which hits him hard in the side, that makes Hektor startle again. Astonished, he looks around to find out what he’s guilty of, but the Greek next to him only nods towards the entrance of the camp, and Hector realizes that most others are trying to get unobtrusive glances.

Hector follows their example and in the twilight he can make out Achilles in the circle of his commanders. He seems to be talking to Patroclus, who wears a bandage around his forehead, but on the whole seems quite healthy, if not happy.

He is not sure if the wine fools him with illusions, but Hector believes he can see that the two men are arguing. Achilles looks furious, gesticulating again and again wildly with his hands and is looming over Patroclus, next to which he seems almost overpowering. The young man wears a no less exasperated countenance, but it is clear that he is more in defense than in attack, and Hector does not think he will have much to oppose to the seasoned warrior.

His guess is confirmed. With a clear gesture, Achilles sends him away and Patroclus follows, though it is more than clear how reluctant he is. Angril, the blond youth trudges through the line of the Greeks.

“Someone does not look like he was lucky enough to escape death by a hair's breadth today” Peros mumbles and Dimitrios laughs, before turning quickly back to his dinner, like most others do who until now were interested in watching the scene and suddenly seem surprisingly distracted.

Patroclus ignores them, craning his chin somewhere with pride and defiance, and finally stops in front of Hector, who does not bother to pretend he did not see him coming. If Patroclus wants to talk to him, he is available.

He’s wondering if he should get up, but the way Patroclus tries to imitate Achilles’ stature tells him that the boy needs to look down on him right now, so he stays seated, but looks up at him expectantly.

  
For a few seconds, Patroclus glares at him angrily. The more time passes, the more unpleasant the situation becomes. Not for Hector, but for Patroclus, who is losing every bit of residual dignity. Hector wants to shake him and advise him to finally come out with what he has to say before he totally embarrasses himself, but of course that is not possible.

Finally, Hector can not stand it anymore. He decides to save Patroclus for the second time in one day from an unpleasant situation. "I'm glad to see you so well, young mater!" Contrary to his expectations, Hector does choke on using the title. If Patroclus had hoped that he could still provoke him, his hopes are gone now, and that annoys the boy immensely. Hector understands that. At his age, he probably would not have felt otherwise. But there are lessons that every boy has to learn on the way to being a man and admitting mistakes is one of them.

Patroclus is an open book, one can literally see the fight that he fights in his face before he finally gets the upper hand. "That's why I'm here," he expresses through squeezed teeth, but at least calmly. Hector raises an eyebrow and does not answer. He was not asked to talk. Maybe now is a good time to learn subservience. Patroclus continues: "Had you not been there today, slave," and he must emphasize that, of course, "I might have been less fortunate and would not stand here now."

Hector briefly considers if he should push his luck some more, but decides it’s not worth it. "Only the gods know that, mylord. So long we should simply thank them that nothing more happened” he replies diplomatically.

The temptation to accept his copy seems great for Patroclus. But then his eyes flicker briefly to Achilles, who watches them from a distance, and he takes a deep breath. “That might be true, but today it was not the gods that saved my life, but you. Thank you.” And to Hector's great surprise, he actually manages to hint at a small bow. If he had blinked too fast, it would have escaped him, but Hector is sure that he has seen right and judging from the silence of the crowd around them he was not mistaken.

He lowers his head. “I only did my duty. And gladly so.” Even though that's half the truth, Patroclus seems to be content.

Without another word he pulls away, mingles with the others and begins to wash away his defeat with much wine. Hector can not say how Achilles reacted. The Myrmidon has disappeared, along with his generals and can not be seen until they finally deciide to go to sleep and send him back to the tent. Hector lets his gaze wander over the crowd, but sees only Patroclus, who is just saying goodbye to Eumaeus and throwing him a gawky look.

 

"Come on, Agathon!" Dimitrios shouts to him, but puts his arm around his shoulder in a friendly rather than imperious way. “Go rest. Achilles will certainly want to celebrate the salvation of his Patroclus today, so there’s no point for you to wait!”

The words are meant as encouragement, Hector believes. Nevertheless, the unrest in himgrows as he enters the tent.

For a while he does not quite know what to do with himself. He usually waits in the evening, as instructed, kneeling on one of the cushions until Achilles returns and uses the time to rest. But despite all the excitement of the day, the hearty food, the strong wine and the almost pleasant company has left him feel amazingly refreshed. There is nothing for him to do, he must not leave the tent and could simply lie down and sleep, but after all, this seems a bit too bold.

Maybe Achilles still wants to talk to him about what happened today. Did the Myrmidon watch his act of heroism or was he just told about it? And if the latter is the case, how honest were Patroclus and Eumaeus then? Sure, Patroclus came to him at Achilles’ behest. But the way the soldiers took in this episode is all too easy to interpret as cockiness on his part. Is that why Achilles stays away so long? To discuss how to better control the slave who has tamed two vreatures of war at once? He can not move without a bodyguard of at least four warriors already and this will not help.

Again and again his thoughts revolve around such strategic considerations. Again and again he sees Achilles talking  with Patroclus and that robs him of every quiet second.

So Hector keeps pacing until he finally gets tired and flops down on the divan in frustration to watch the remains of the smoldering fire, as if the embers could show him the way out of his captivity.


	13. Gratitude

Achilles' arrival abruptly tearrs him out of his musings, and instinctively he jumps up as Achilles pauses and assesses him. Hector starts to sink to his knees, but in the same breath the other man has crossed the tent and embraces him so tightly that Hector can do nothing but wait and see.

"Agathon!" The word sounds rushed and desperate at Hector's ear, but also sweet and familiar. "How are you? Were you hurt?”

Achilles' hands are frantically groping his body, moving over his back, his arms, his chest up and down before Hektor can answer. "Apart from the whip that taught me this morning to run faster, if ordered to, not."

"Athena and all gods, thank you!" If Achilles has heard the sacrasm, he does not react, but that's no surprise, because the relief in his voice seems honest. He pauses in his caresses and looks Hector up and down. "What did you think about throwing yourself between two racing horses?"

It is bizarre to see the brave man in such honest revolt. Hector thinks for a moment whether he should dare to relax the situation with a joke, but decides against it, he does not want to agitate Achilles any further. "I thought that I am the one who understands these animals best and horse and rider needed my help." He is silent and forces himself to add: "How is young Patroclus?"

"The fool was lucky." To Hector's surprise, Achilles makes a dismissive gesture and laughs. "Although I'm afraid his self-esteem has suffered significantly more than his bones. Maybe that will finally teach him to be careful."

He trails his fingers once more through Hector's thick curls. "Even if that seems to be a virtue that few men around me show."

Hector's first impulse is to admonish him to set a good example, but he lets it be. "Oh, that's not the case. I've never put myself in danger," he explains deadly serious and Achilles grins.

"Oh really?"

"Really," confirms Hektor. "After all, you've commanded me to take good care of myself. And who am I to disobey your orders?"

He grins provocatively and puts his hands on Achilles' shoulders as if to return his hug.

Half joking, half seriously Achilles asks: "Who indeed?"

The question comes unexpectedly for Hector. Achilles has not asked since he decided he was his goods, but of course he'll still ponder over it. And Hector is not sure if he hasn’t earned an answer.

Before Hector can even begin to answer, Achilles bends over to his crook, gently kisses it and whispers, "I wanted to thank you, Agathon."

The words immediately conjure goose bumps on Hector's neck. He has come to know that tone of voice in the past few weeks, and he also appreciates it. Achilles is a gifted lover, he thinks he can say with certainty, even if he has little comparison material. Strong and purposeful, prudent and attentive, like a hero on the battlefield, and equally skilful. He has learned to uphold those virtues in his life from childhood, so why not here?

"I just did my duty," he practices in understatement, but he suggests the same harsh, dark tone and hopes Achilles understands his wink.

With a jerk the other draws him closer and Hector smiles triumphantly as he seeks his lips for a kiss. Panting breathlessly, they part again and impatiently Hector's fingers move to the straps on Achilles' breastplate. But he seems to have other plans. He grabs Hector's hands, leads them briefly to his lips, and then gently pushes him back onto the divan. In the same motion he sinks on his knees in front of Hector, who lets him do so. Achilles releases his hands so that Hector does not know exactly where to put them. Without any hesitation, Achilles pushes far apart until Hector sits open enough in front of him to make room for him.

It's weird to see Achilles like this before him, and it's beautiful. His blue eyes shine in the light of the flames and remind Hector of the divine origin of the Greek. Thoroughly looking at his slaves, he slides his fingers down Hector's thigh until they reach bare skin. He pushes back under Hector's tunic, pushes the fabric upwards and Hector feels lust and shame at the same time about the attention that is now on his groin.

In front of him, Achilles kneels under him and begins to breathe hot kisses on the inside of his thighs. At that moment, Hector is glad to have his hands free, for he involuntarily grabs the pillows that cover the divan to hold on to it, so as not to twitch involuntarily under Achilles' favor. Again and again Achilles approaches him, only to retreat at the last moment, until Hector is aroused by the mere promises only.

As Achilles pauses again, Hector moans. "Your gratitude is strange when it is expressed by torturing a man so much." Maybe he would have sounded more convincing if the words had not come out of his mouth so huffed and rasped.

Achilles laughs softly and strengthens his grip on Hector's legs. "Patience, Agathon!" But he takes the words to heart. Slowly, Achilles looks up at him and licks his lips before opening them in a smile and embracing Hector's manhood.

The feeling is as good as he remembers it, better yet, for this time he allows himself to enjoy it to the fullest, undistracted by fear and uncertainty. To release his tension and to spur on Achilles, Hector groans and grabs the pillows more tightly, then grabs Achilles' blond hair, clings to it tightly and Achilles lets it happen. Seeing the proud warriors and greatest hero of the Greeks in such a way might suffice already to rob Hector of every little self-restraint he has left, but Achilles’ administrations only urge him on. Playfully, his tongue wanders over Hector, who closes his eyes and tries to breathe evenly so as not to come too fast.

However, his resistance is not long lasting and Achilles does nothing to slow down his lust. Undeterred, he indulges him until Hector can no longer hold on to himself. He tenses briefly and when he finally comes, it's a salvation. Achilles does not flinch, continues his caresses until Hector's groan subsides and he collapses completely exhausted.

At first everything in him refuses to look at Achilles. Too fast, too easy he has given himself to the other man. But then he feels Achilles heave himself up, which can not be an easy task, as he still wears the full breastplate, and sits down next to him on the divan.

His hand reaches for Hector's cheek and indeed he looks at him now, fully aware of how the blood still turns his cheeks red, his lust still darkens his eyes.

"You're beautiful when you let got," whispers Achilles. The warmth of words makes Hector smile. When Achilles kisses him, he can taste himself.

"We should retire." Hector hears Achilles' words and initially agrees with the proposal.

A pleasant warmth weakens his body, his limbs still glow softly in the echo of his climax and he is too lazy to follow Achilles immediately. The Myrmidon begins to get rid of his attire and finally Hector awakens from his lethargy. He kneels down to take off Achilles' greaves and in doing so he realizes that the Myrmidon under his tunic has become as hard as he was a few minutes ago.

He continues to help Achilles undress and a determination matures in him. When Achilles, except for the fabric on his skin, is free of clothing and sinks down to his bed, Hector takes a deep breath and kneels behind him.

He embraces Achilles with his left hand and puts it firmly on his chest, but with his right hand he reaches down towards Achilles' groin without hesitation.

"Tell me what I have to do!" he whispers, fascinated by how out of breath he sounds.

Achilles inhales sharply. "Whatever you like."

For a second, Hector thinks he wants to tease him. Then he realizes that Achilles is serious and understands. A little ashamed he begins to lay hands on Achilles, as he has done countless times with himself. Surprisingly, or actually not surprising at all, the feeling is not strange, but pleasantly familiar.

If he was still unsure at the beginning, Achilles' moans reassure him after a few strokes. The Myrmidon does not shy back from making his pleasure known, obscenely so, puts his head back and gasps loud again and again. He closes his eyes tightly and Hector can see him swallowing dry before uttering his name.

Even if it is not Hector’s own the words spur him on. It is he who elicits these sounds from noble Achilles, who has him completely in his hand and whom he entrusts himself to. Hector's heart beats faster. He continues, forcing himself not to stop to enjoy the moment, but to continue to ensnare Achilles. The warrior now falls fully into his arms, pressing himself firmly to his chest, feeling blindly for him as a tense tremor engulfs his whole body.

Hector holds him patiently and firmly in his embrace, watching as Achilles lets himself be carried away by his lust. It is as if a mystery were revealed to him, something divine that only a very few mortals could ever see, and he knows that he will treasure this moment in his memories for as long as he lives.

He is glad that they are already sitting on the soft pillows, it makes it easier to sink only to the ground, pull Achilles with him until they lie together, still closely entwined and passing over into an exhausted half-sleep.

"Achilles?" Hector only whispers the word, but his lips are directly against the addressed ear, so he reacts with an inarticulate answer.

"My name is ..." He pauses and gathers all his courage.

He is about to utter the truth when Achilles' soft snore interrupts him. Sighing, Hector lowers his head to the pillows. The smell of Achilles' blond hair obscures his senses and finally, he too sleeps deep and dreamless until morning.

 

 


	14. Dark Clouds

  
"... have been supporting the city for years!"

Hector pours wine and presses his lips together. He makes an effort not to watch the men too closely, not to let it show how much he hangs on their lips. But no matter how casually he entertains Achilles‘ guests, he listens intently and absorbs every word that is said.

„And what does that matter?“, Achilles asks little impressed and takes a few grapes.

It is rare for Achilles to conduct strategic consultations in his tent, and they have never spoken so openly about their plans. Why exactly he cares so much, Hector can not say. He can not intervene anyway. But hearing about the war reminds him bittersweetly that there is still a besieged city out there that he can call his home.

He's done with handing out drinks and kneels silently outside the circle, upright and with his hands on his knees, head bowed down slightly, when Patroclus jolts: "What does it matter? That they feed the enemy right under our noses, giving them the opportunity to resist a little longer every day!“

It was Patroclus who suggested that Pedasus needs tob e destroyed and he seems not pleased with Achilles‘ indifference to his proposal.

The blond warrior smiles reassuringly. „Patroclus, I understand your request. Really. But Pedasus is a tiny mountain village and Troy a metropolis. They could not make enough millet to feed the door guards, let alone a starving city.“

„Nevertheless, Troy resists us“ Phoinix points out. „Even though Agamemnon already prophesied the exhaustion of all resources five years ago.“

Achilles rolls his eyes. „I thought we had clarified that Agamemnon is a fool. Even Odysseus admits that by now.“ He laughs and takes a sip of wine. „They must have other sources.“

Hector cannot hide a pleased smile. Not that it's likely someone would notice.

Patroclus tries his hardest to sound calm and fails. „That's why we have to set an example!“

Achilles sighs, but Alkimedon adds, „It's true, Achilles. Collaboration with the enemy must not go unpunished.“

Hector's heart contracts painfully. He knows Pedasus. In the past, he used to go there to buy cloth and horses and to charm the local girls. Andromache‘s home is not far away.

„Don‘t we have anything more important to do?“ Achilles still seems half-hearted.

Patroclus, however, takes his chance. „We can‘t do much about the city wall anyway,“ he explains eagerly. „And maybe it scares at least a small portion of their allies.“

In the silence that ensues, Hector hears the logs crackling in the fire. No one dares to harass Achilles until he finally sighs. „How long a ride to Pedasus?“

„About three days.“ Two, if you have the right horses, Hector wants to say, but bites his tongue.

„Very well, then!“ Achilles sits up and puts his hands on his knees. „Phoinix make sure the men are ready tomorrow morning. We all ride and leave only a handful behind. Antiochus, maybe, and some of Eudoros‘ people to take care of the injured. Patroclus, go and inform Agamemnon of our decision.“

Phoinix and Patroclus react immediately. They rise, bow to Achilles and leave the tent together. Hector looks up and rises to clear away the remains of their meal. On the way out, he thinks he sees Patroclus giving him a triumphant look. Does he think this endeavour will hurt him? A loss that is surely to be expected after years of war?

He does not pursue the thought any further but focusses on the task before him. Nevertheless, his stomach churns. He does not like how quickly the decision was made. The way into the mountains is dangerous and the Greeks are not familiar with it. You can easily get into an ambush. It also grieves him for Pedasus. Hopefully they evacuate in time.

When they are alone again, Hector does not botherto jump up and assault Achilles to change his mind. But the other seems to have long ago noticed that something grieves him.

“Well, tell me, Agathon, what's bothering you!” he begins suddenly, gesturing for him to sit with him.

Hector follows his invitation. Several times he starts to speak, but breaks off every time. Achilles does not urge him, only waits with obvious interest and observes him.

“I beg you. Do not go!” he finally brings out. He speaks objectively, but with a certain gravity. Perhaps this may convince Achilles to reconsider his decision.

Achilles reaches for his hand. “I do not think we'll find much there anymore. If your friends have a little common sense, they have long left the area.”

A tormented smile enters Hector's face and he shakes his head. “That's not what it is about.”

The words make Achilles raise an eyebrow so that Hector restricts, “Not only.” He returns Achilles’ grip. “I don’t have a good feeling about this. Something about the order displeases me. Who gave the idea to this robbery?”

For a moment, Achilles is silent and deliberates. “One of Agamemnon's scouts, I would assume. But what does that matter? It's an easy job. Trivial maybe, but certainly not more dangerous than the battlefields.”

Hector snorts angrily. “You want to ride into the mountains. Forgive me, but I've seen how well the Greel ride horses on rough and unknown terrain.”

“You’re gettingbold, Trojan,” laughs Achilles and Hector returns a tired smile, but remains serious.

“Take me with you! I know the area and can guide you safely.”

What exactly he expects from this mission, he does not know. But the suddenness and apparent futility make him suspicious.

But Achilles does not seem to share his concern. “We haven’t contributed anything important for quite some while now, Agathon. My men are getting restless and the other army commanders start to ask when the Myrmidons will bring loot agan. This is a good opportunity to prove ourselves. It is no pleasure ride and you would only be caught between a rock and a hard place.!

Hector would gladly retort, but can’t think of an answer that would not sound effeminate and superstitious. So he says nothing, even if he is unhappy with it.

As if to dispel his worries, Achilles strokes his cheek. “Do not worry too much, Agathon. Three days we will ride away and three back.” He kisses his forehead. “In a week’s time, we’ll laugh about it.”

Against all reason, Hector sighs softly.

 

The following morning, the Myrmidons set out early, earlier than Hector would have thought. One certainly can’t deny that their efficiency makes them dangerous opponents. Maybe he is lucky and they will indeed be back quickly and safely.

The camp is strangely empty and abandoned. Achilles left few people behind, and why shouldn’t he? If Hector is not mistaken, there are only two left whom he knows well: Antiochus, who now commands a handful of those unknown to him from Eudoros’ company, and Eumaeus. Patroclus did not leave either. Why, Hector does not know, but it gives him some courage. If Achilles leaves his darling behind, that may mean that he really is being careful.

  
To his surprise they don’t even bother to bring him into the woods anymore. Antiochus made arrangements shortly after the others‘ departure, but Eumaeus, of all people, argued against it, because they have so few people left. There was a brief quarrel until Patroclus stepped in and vouched for the decision. Antiochus might not have liked it, but it probably dispelled his worst concerns.

Hector had only followed the discussion with half-interest. He isn’t happy with the situation anyway and there’s nothing left to do but put up with it. So he spends the day guarded by Antiochus and counting the minutes. If he really is their most precious good, then Achilles may have been right: the Myrmidons are in need of new spoils of war. The first day Hektor spends in his newfound calm, does not move one muscle more than absolutely necessary and with great difficulty manages to challenge Antiochus, who seems just as fatigued by his task, to a dice game.

In the corner of his mind the realisation arises that he will have the chance to escape in those seven days, if ever. But he is exhausted and surprised and the thought carries a strangely sad note. Once again, he realizes how much captivity has changed him. He wants to call himself weak or a coward, but that's not it. Staying alive ha staken so much of his energy that not much is left. And self-blame will not change that.

What he needs is a plan. And to complete this he needs information. So he'll wait, at least a day, to learn about the camp's new routines and for Achilles to get far away. No matter what the man did to him, he will miss him. A great hero he is indeed, of this he has been able to convince himself first hand. The considerations keep him busy late into the night and take away the calm he thought he had found. For a long time he walks restlessly back and forth in the tent as long as the chains, which have now been fastened to a tent post again, allow it. Without its owner, the tent looks surprisingly empty and Hector takes quite a while before he can lie down on the pillows. Only well after midnight he finds superficial sleep.

  
The next morning, loud screams and a furious murmur in front of the tent tear Hector from his dreams. Apparently he will be drafted back to work today, which is bad, not only for his bones just recovering, but also for his plans, because now nothing seems predictable. He yawns and sits up.

„... no right to occupy our camp!", he hears Antiochus‘ indignant tone. Suddenly Hector is wide awake. Even before he gets to his feet, no less than eight heavily armed and fully armored Greeks enter the tent, which now looks surprisingly small and cramped. The sudden light blinds Hector, making it impossible for him to identify the uniforms, but it is self-explanatory that they are not Myrmidons.

„What, by Zeus, ...?“, he starts, but even before he can finish his question, two of the new arrivals have grabbed him and dragged him to his feet. Two more begin to break the chain that holds him here. Apparently, Antiochus has refused to give them the key. The remaining four hold their swords at the ready, as if he were half a Trojan army and not a rudely awakened slave.

„Not an occupation, Antiochus,“ replies the leader, whom Hector can only vaguely recognize. „We're just helping you out because you're so understaffed right now.“ The threat in his voice is unmistakable.

If Antiochus is intimidated by it, he does not show it and Hector feels an unreasonably proud of him. „You have no right to take anything from this camp. And certainly not Achilles‘ private property.“

The cold voice of the stranger cuts him off. „Only Achilles can decide that. And he is not here.“ They still have not managed to untie his chains. One of the soldiers steps out to tell his already furious captain. The situation is getting uncomfortable for Antiochus. But even before one of those present can do something stupid, another man joins them.

„I have the key, sir.“ Hector does not have to look out of the tent to recognize the voice. Anger is boiling up inside him.

“Thank you, Eumaeus. I'm sure your services will be rewarded.”

The warrior enters, unlocks the chain, and commands his men in short, barking words to tie Hector and carry him off.

If he had not four sword tips aimed straight at him, Hector could not guarantee that Eumaeus would still live to see this day’s evening. As it is he does not even get the satisfaction of spitting into the traitor’s broad sneer.

With his head held high, he is escorted outside, where Antiochus and his men are held in check by ten men. Everywhere in the camp Hector can see the unfamiliar soldiers, there must be at least eighty. Antiochus was right, they are occupying them, but for what purpose? Certainly the presence of so many men is great waste of resscources.

He does not have time to think about it. With quick steps they lead him away. In passing Hector sees the same surprise and dismay in the faces of the Myrmidons that he himself feels. Even Patroclus stands there and does not move. However, he is also without any security and right then Hector knows, who must have helped Eumaeus.

He closes his eyes and prays for a bolt of lightning to kill the boy.

As they continue on, Hector tries to keep calm and assess his situation. Achilles is gone one day. A fast rider can reach him in another half, but it does not look as if even one of the Myrmidons could leave the camp at the moment, should they want to try. So it is the six remaining days of the journey.

They march west. There, the rest of the army is set. And the quarries. It does not take much imagination to guess where they're going to take him. He is strong and healthy and, thanks to his luck, also halfway recovered. Six days, he'll make it. He just has to hold out.

At first, Hector does not notice that in the middle of the rows of Greek tents, their steps slow down and turn them a bit to the north. His mind is too intent on the task before him. When he finally realizes, he does not know what to do with it. Then comes the answer in the form of a flat, one-story stone building and Hector understands.

  
Fear seizes him, a terrible, nameless panic he has not felt since the beginning of his imprisonment. His limbs falter, he can not do one step more. Above him, Apollo looks mercilessly down on him. Rough and violent hands lay on his shoulders to move him on. With an angry outcry Hector continues to fight them off. Like an injured animal in a trap, he resists his captors, not even knowing exactly where he takes the incredible strenghth from. In the end, his resistance is in vain. It takes not only the first ten but a total of twelve men until they've got him back under control, and they have to beat him half unconscious before they can drag him away, but in the end theey succeed. Six of them haul him into Agamemnon‘s palace and Hector tastes blood.


	15. Freed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be on the safe side: This chapter and the next one will contain flashbacks to torture. They are brief and few and to me it really seems like not much (especially compared to some of the other things I've read and enjoyed in this pairing and scenario), but I know that people have different levels of tolerance for what they like/can enjoy in a story and I'm really no good judge on this, so if you don't like that kind of stuff maybe skip it or just skim over it? Hope you all can enjoy it.

It is stiflingly hot in the camp. For days, the sun has been burning relentlessly and paralyzing the fighting spirit of the soldiers on both sides alike. The battles have come to a standstill except a few minor skirmishes.

Agamemnon has not left his palace for weeks and there is no indication that this is about to change. He lies lazily on his divan. Two slaves are standing in the background and fanning him, but even this service hardly creates relief. In order to not aggravate the situation, they have extinguished the fires, so that the large hall appears pleasantly dark in the afternoon shade.

A young woman sits a little bit off and plays the Kithara. No singing, just a casual melody that mixes with the laziness of the day. From somewhere the rippling of a well penetrates the silence. The remains of Agamemnon's sumptuous midday meal still decorate the table in front of him. He has not even eaten half, so the first flies settle on it.

A wink from the ringed, fleshy fingers and other slaves hurry to remove the remnants of the binge. The sudden bustle seems out of place, irritating the ruler, who grimaces, but is obviously too lazy to give another command.

Time passes annoyingly slow and makes those present sleepy.

The sudden shriek from the hinges that permeates the silence almost seems like sacrilege, but before one of those present can so much as raise a finger the doors of the hall open. Achilles, sweaty and dusty from the way out of the mountains enters. He storms past the guards and across the room. His eyes are as sharp as a thousand knives and just as deadly. Everything about him trembles with anger, and only a few steps before Agamemnon he pauses. Two guards follow him, but dare not touch him, his fury is too burning, his hatred too wild. He comes alone, but all Erinyes seem to give him escort.

“How dare you?” He hisses through clenched teeth and stretches his sword in the direction of Agamemnon. Gone is every trace of courtesy he has ever given the man.

Agamemnon does not respond. Undeterred, he continues to gently slide his fingers over the cheek of the naked slave sitting in front of him.

His hand on the man's neck could be read as a gesture of affection, but a vicious sparkle in his eyes betrays that it is more of a threat, though there is not the slightest reason for it.

Hector sits upright and absolutely motionless in front of Agamemnon's outstretched body. His eyes are fixed and empty, his does not flicker for a second towards Achilles. Everything about him seems petrified, even the caresses from Agamemnon cause no reaction. Only the slightest hint of goose bumps give away that the man is uncomfortable. Achilles grits his teeth and finally Agamemnon can be bothered to an answer.

“Greetings, Achilles. I've already heard about your ramble into the mountains.” He sizzles down to Achilles in a disgustingly calm and condescending manner. “But I was told you would not return until tomorrow.”

Achilles snorts. “That was before you took away what is mine.”

Slowly, Agamemnon trails his hand down Hector's neck, fleetingly touching his chin and neck. Hector still does not move a muscle. “What about it?”, Agamemnon laughs. “Don’t you like what I made of your Agathon?”

Eyes narrowed with rage, Achilles examines Hector. His hair and beard have been cut again, shorter than before, in the manner in which the Greek youths in Athens wear them, when they hope to flatter a particularly sought-after Erastes on the Acropolis. He is also washed and his head covered with a narrow silver hoop. But the effort to make his appearance pleasant cannot hide how badly they have treated him. Red calluses have formed around his wrists, as if he had desperately tried to escape his chains. Again and again, the uniform complexion of his skin is interrupted by blue, green and yellow-purple spots and on his shoulders appear hints of ugly red welts. His eyes are deep and emaciated, making his eyes look even more lifeless. He squeezes his lips tightly together and it is only on closer inspection that one can see that Hector is breathing, as if he were afraid of attracting the attention of a cruel enemy with even the slightest movement. His neck is surrounded by little red dots that wrap around his throat like a wreath. Even under the chin and over shoulders and collarbone Achilles can recognize the injuries.

  
"You had no right!" Achilles does not get angry. Bitter and deadly seriousness show on his face, and this may make him even more dangerous as he takes a step towards Agamemnon. "Give him back. Now!"

Agamemnon straightens up a bit. "No, Achilles, I won‘t." It is unclear whether the man does not realize how serious Achilles is or whether he ignores it, but still he seems more amused. "We get along so well, don’t we?"

Reluctantly, Hector gives in as Agamemnon draws him into his arms. "I understand what you see in him, Achilles, I really do. It's so entertaining to have him around. You will not rob your leader of this pleasure! "

Once again, Achilles takes a step towards Agamemnon. His sword now points directly to the face of the Greek.

"I'm warning you, Agamemnon," Achilles starts. His voice is soft, but all the more forceful. Before he can continue, the guards seem to remember their duties. With raised spears, they approach Achilles.

"You warn me?" All humor has left Agamemnon's behavior. "You forget your place, Myrmidon! I am your leader and you will listen to me.“

He signals the soldiers to advance and Achilles has to retreat, for better or worse. Still, he spits on the floor right before Agamemnon. "You'll regret this, old man." Abruptly he turns to leave and the guards have to hurry to escort him out of the hall.

„You know, I told him he would be allowed sleep tonight if he behaved,“ Agamemnon shouts after Achilles. „Maybe I should re-think this decision.“

The only answer Agamemnon receives is an obscene gesture, then the door closes again.

It's the middle of the night when they finally come for him. Hector does not know if he is awake or dreams. The last few days have turned into an endless nightmare and his body always feels completely exhausted, so that he no longer distinguishes between sleep and reality.

Time passes in thick gray lumps. Often he does not even notice if it passes at all. Yesterday sinks into a confused fog of pain and humiliation and there is no tomorrow. Everything he knows is here and now. And here and now he tries to survive.

The collar they put on him is particularly mean. Not only does the weight of the iron weigh heavily on his shoulders, the monstrosity is also decorated with thorns that dig into his shoulders, eat slowly into his flesh, let the blood run down his chest in small creeks. The in- and upside of the ring is also spiked, so that Hector can do nothing but endure desperately. If he moves his head or his rough throat forces him to swallow dry, he can feel the impending sting of the tips. For a moment, the adrenaline wakes him up, but it does not take long before he has to fight again not to lose consciousness from exhaustion and impale himself.

A bead of sweat rolls over his forehead and into his eyes. Hector winks to dispel the burning. His hands are tied behind his back and heighten the pain in his shoulders. Farther back in the room, Agamemnon snores softly with a young slave-girl in his arms. Hector can not remember the last time he slept. It has to be nice not to feel anything for a while. The anger that he should feel for Agamemnon has long since given way to a dull envy ...

Panic lets Hector jolt up, as he feels a slight stinging at his neck. Where is he? How did he come here? He does not know.

Slowly he understands that there are calls from outside that have awakened him. They become louder and more urgent. He wonders if he should try to get to his feet, and his face turns into a grimace. Whatever is going on there, it will come to him, or not. What does it matter?

With an ugly splintering the door breaks off its hinges. Agamemnon jumps up and reaches for his sword, so fiercely and impetuously that the poor girl in his bed cries out loud.

Within seconds, the room is full of soldiers who have taken a stand and circled Agamemnon, before he can even get up. Hector must blink to see something in the dancing glow of the torches. They are not Agamemnon's people. The king of the Greeks is raging.

"Who are you, worms, to enter my chambers?"

But none of the warriors answers. Under the helmets their faces are barely recognizable, seem like stone masks. Menacingly, cold and black, shines their armor. Hector feels as if he should recognizes them but he can’t quite fgure out where from.

Then Achilles is with him.

The Myrmidon enters the room last, pausing to capture the scene, and when he sees the situation as under control, it only takes a fraction of a second before he kneels at Hector’s side. He wants to say something, but his lips tremble with the effort as he tries to move them, and Achilles’ hand cups his cheek to stop him.

“Shhh, Agathon! There will be time for whatever you have to say!” And Hector has to swallow down the lump in his throat, which gives him new, painful stings. Sorrow enters Achilles’ friendly face and cautiously he begins to feel the cruel jewelry.

“Guards!”, Agamemnon bellows behind them, without success. All he does is make Achilles turn to him now. Before he can call again, he already has the sword of Myrmidon at his throat and for the first time a trace of fear appears in Agamemnon's face.

“Where is the key”" Any word that leaves Achilles’ lips sounds deadly.

Agamemnon raises his hands protectively, as if the helpless gesture could change something about the steel that threatens his life.

“Achilles, you will not dare to raise the sword against your commander?” If pride sounds unpleasant from Agamemnon's lips, his begging is a thousand times more repugnant, especially as it does not show the slightest effect.

“Where is the key?” Achilles asks again.

“You have to understand ... I had to teach him a lesson.” Agamemnon is now stammering more than speaking. Achilles leaves him briefly, but only to take his hand and pull it forward.

"I will not ask again!" An uncertain flicker passes across Agamemnon's face. Achilles raises his sword.

"Alright!" The desperation that lies in the words is music even to Hector’s exhausted ears. "All right, here you have them." And Agamemnon awkwardly pulls out the key under the pillows.

It takes an infinitely long time until Achilles has finally loosened the lock on his collar, at least to Hector. Then he feels the weight slide from his shoulders and collapses. Only Achilles’ quick reflexes stop him from falling hard on the cold stone floor. He catches him, holds him, and all Hector knows is the familiar fragrance emanating from him. Sweat and musk and safety. He closes his eyes and breathes.

He finally tries to get to his feet, in vain. He manages to get up with Achilles’ help, but he can’t bring himself to stand upright, his pelvis and loins hurt too much. When Achilles asks if he can walk, Hector shakes his head in silence and shame.

The rest of his escape is nothing but a flash of fragments before his eyes. He knows that Achilles must have picked him up, for while his head still rests against the Greek’s shoulder, he carries him out through the dark corridors, only accompanied by the synchronous echoes of the marching Myrmidons.

Left and right, he keeps seeing soldiers in black armor securing the building, there must be over two hundred, but maybe that's just his imagination. Agamemnon's screaming and raving is getting weaker behind them.

Only once do they stop when a single man steps in their way. Hector does not bother to look up to find out who it is.

"What madness is this, Achilles?" The man sounds worried rather than angry. But that does not seem to reduce Achilles’ anger.

"Stay out of it, Odysseus! This is between me and Agamemnon!”

Hector discovers that Odysseus is approaching them with raised hands. "I'm not here to take sides with Agamemnon. I just want to keep the peace in our own ranks!”

None of the Myrmidons makes any attempt to threaten Odysseus. The ruler of Ithaca is generally estimated highly amongst all the Greeks alike. Nevertheless, Achilles’ answer seems surprisingly derogatory. “Do not worry about that. I will trouble the Greek armies no more.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Again, there’s honest concern.

“That I no longer intend to raise my sword for Menelaus or his megalomaniac brother again.” Hector only marginally understands what Achilles says, what significance this has for the war, and what effect it must have on the Greeks.

“You can’t be serious.” For the first time, displeasure enters Odysseus' voice.

“Oh, but I very much am! Achilles will not return to Troy’s walls again, until justice has been given. You can tell that to Agamemnon, for whom you do not take sides.”

With these words, Achilles begins to move again and apparently Odysseus makes no move to stop him. Undisturbed, they step out into the starry night. The cold air relentlessly strokes Hector's damaged body and makes him shudder.

At some point on the long way home Hector must have lost consciousness, because when he comes to, he is on a soft bed. With difficulty he opens his eyes and blinks a few times until he recognizes his surroundings. It's Achilles’ tent. He is back.

Hector is still naked, but he has been given a light blanket to cover his body. The soft fabric feels surprisingly painful on his sore skin, but also pleasantly warm and he is grateful for the protection it offers.

“Good to see you again...” Only now does Hector realize that he is not alone. Achilles stands a few meters beside him and smiles before he comes to kneel beside him.

“Here, drink ...” He helps Hector to sit up halfway, which turns out to be a rather Herculean act, and then hands him a bowl of water. Hector's throat feels scratchy, so he drinks greedily before Achilles takes the goblet away from him.

“Well, well, gently,...” He gently strokes his short dark hair and sets the goblet down next to him. Slowly he helps Hector, who is exhausted by the short effort to sink back onto the pillows. Achilles seems to be waiting for him to say something, but he does not urge him, just looks down at him sadly.

“You've made yourself a mighty enemy,” Hector finally says in a harsh voice, startled at how brittle the words sound.

Achilles waves dismissively. “I've never liked the old sod very well. And he crossed a line he never should have touched ... “

Hektor smiles weakly and closes his eyes. He hears Achilles getting up and handling some earthenware.

“Turn around.” Achilles' voice makes him startle. He looks up at him questioningly and discovers a strange expression in the other’s face. Frowning, Achilles quietly explains: “I need to see your wounds.”

Instantly and without thinking, Hector obeys and turns on his stomach with a painful gasp to present his back to Achilles, who whistles almostin admiration. “With all respect, Agamemnon has done quite some work... I should have left this disgusting bastard at least a slight memory in return ..."

Shaking his head slightly Hector can not completely prevent his mouth from turning into a tired grin. What would he give to press the last bit of life from Agamemnon’s bloated body himself?

_"Bind the bastard!" Agamemnon's voice vibrates with joy. "And get the bullwhip. I want to properly beat some manners into him! "_

Achilles dips his finger in the jug and wets his fingers with a herbal smelling ointment.

_It takes six men to bring Hector under control and hold him. They force him to kneel with his legs and his back turned to Agamemnon and tie his arms and legs outstretched so that they begin to hurt after a short time. Hector is glad that he can not see with what greed Agamemnon stares at his bare back._

He feels Achilles' eyes on his back and for a short time he is uncomfortable.

 "You have to be very brave again, Trojan," whispers Achilles softly. Hector steels his spirit, but when Achilles touches his first blood-stained wound, he still shrugs in pain and his hands claw into the sheet under him. He hisses a curse but does not interfere and allows Achilles to go on.

_When the whip first touches him, he only flinches briefly. After the seventh stroke, he feels the blood running down his backbone. He bites his lips painfully until they are also bloody to suppress his cries of pain._

Achilles devotes himself to every single tortured place on Hector's back. There is hardly a piece of his back that is not sore, but Achilles' caution and skill make the necessary bearable. Slowly the pain mixes with a light pleasure. Hector closes his eyes.

_When he finally reaches his limits, he begins to shout out his agony with almost superhuman volume, the sounds that come over his lips have nothing human about them anymore. Hector does not bother to count the blows, he just lets them happen and feels like the waves of pain rolling over him, again and again, mercilessly, infinitely._

When Achilles is done, he breathes a gentle kiss on Hector's shoulder and suddenly all the tension of the last days dissolves from him. He can not help the tears that start to run down his cheeks. He would like to hold them back, if only because every little movement hurts, but he does not find a spark of strength in him anymore. His body is shaken by the cramps, which take him with an unprecedented violence. In short, he tries to exhort himself, to be strong and to show no weakness before the enemy, but his body no longer obeys him.

Instead of sarcastic words, Achilles wraps his arms around the Troyan, gently pulls him into his arms and holds him in silence. Again and again he strokes his back in reassurence. Hector cannot tell where the tears come from, it seems surreal and unlikely that he should still have so much life left inside. Perhaps he should be frightened about this, but there is Achilles around him, holding and protecting him, and nothing can touch Hector here.

After a while, Achilles begins to sing. Hector thinks he recognizes a Greek lullaby, but he is not sure. Achilles is not a gifted singer, but his voice is deep and warm, and the melody calm and melancholy at the same time. Over time, the shudders ease and his sobs turn into exhausted, deep breaths.

Even after Hector stops shivering, Achilles does not let him go, but gently slides his fingers over the Troyan's damaged body. He softly breates a kiss on his forehead, before he whispers: “A pity we are on different sides. The Troyans must be a very brave people if they produce warriors who can survive such hardships.”

Hector tries to find the ridicule in Achilles’ voice, but he can not discover any. He only looks at him in true admiration and suddenly a smile creeps up on his face. “It seems to me that the Greeks, too, have fathered one or two quite passable fighters.”

For the first time in a week, he sees a smile on Achilles’ face.

“Sleep, Agathon! You need it!” His hand moves through Hector's hair, then he slowly pushes him back onto the pillows, leaving Hector lying on his side, in order to make the pain bearable. A shadow shows over Hector's face. Then he asks: “Will you be here when I wake up?”

“You have my word!”

And finally, finally Hector slides into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually, it took me quite some time to decide what Agamemnon did to Hector. I decided against him being recognized because then I would have had to kill him in the most gruesome way (although I have snippet of less "realistical" versions, where he is found out earlier on, so maybe there will be AUs) and after some heavy deliberations I also decided against having him explicitly raped for then my story would come to a rather sad and unsatisfying end at this point. I'm not sure if their blooming relationship could survive this and so, although I have a weird kink-sort-of soft spot for this type of h/c, I left it ominous. There will be further descriptions of torture, but no mentions of rape. If you feel it warranted to underline Agamemnon's cruelty, however, I'm sure you can read it into the sub-text, so: take from this whatever you feel most comfortable/entertained with.


	16. Healing

The soft murmur of voices wakes him up. In fact, he feels a little rested, even though he can still feel the burning sensation on his back, thumping his groin and the soreness of his vocal cords. It is Achilles speaking, he is quite sure of that, and the other voice seems familiar to him, too.

"... done to him?"

Of course they talk about him. Hector casts a glance over to the two men. It is Antiochus, with whom Achilles sits a little apart, so as not to disturb him, and who answers in a low murmur.

"It was barbaric, Achilles. Never have I seen Agamemnon in such wrath. "Antiochus looks into his cup in front of him. "Agathon ... he defended you to the last."

"Me?"

A nod from Antiochus. "It was not him that Agamemnon wanted to punish."

"I know."

"So he talked. That you obviously are not man enough to educate your own slave. "

To fuck. Agamemnon did not talk about the bush and Hector remembers the words only too well.

"That once he was done with him he would beg to be allowed to suck his cock, and if he really believed that ..."

That Achilles wanted him back then. Hector had known right from the start that Agamemnon only wanted to break him and send him back to Achilles as a wreck. The knowledge had made him stronger.

Antiochus breaks off and pauses. What Achilles does, Hector cannot see.

Then he takes a deep breath and continues: "I ... I was there when they put him on the horse. I had tried to bring Agamemnon to reason. He's probably deliberately kept me waiting long enough. "

Hector had not known that. Sure, he remembers the horse all too well. The pain in his groin will not let him forget the ordeal so fast. But that Antiochus saw him, he was not aware of that. Desperate Hector closes his eyes.

"How long?" He hears the suppressed anger in Achilles' voice as he drives his soldier to continue.

Antiochus answers with a sigh. "I dont know. Long. Several hours. Athena alone knows how he endured it. "

Hector does not know it himself. The memory is hot and painful burned into his memory and even now he has to breathe deeply to fight the rising panic. The strange device, consisting of an upward wedge-shaped wooden saw-horse, he had not seen before. They had ironed the edge of the monstrous thing, and Hector could feel his throat tighten even before he understood what Agamemnon was up to, but the diabolical look in his eyes did not bode well. They loosened his shackles and once again it took several men to tie him to the apparatus and his arms right behind his back so that he could relieve his weight only by the millimeter. The horse was high enough that his feet just could not reach the ground and he quickly became aware that his own weight would gradually pull him down.

"He did not make a sound, Achilles." Antiochus' words sound squeezed as he breaks off. "He did not scream once."

No, he didn’t. Not then. But he hadn’t been able to stop the tears running down his cheeks in pain and humiliation, and he's glad that Antiochus at least did not see that.

Achilles makes a furious snort. "The stubborn head of this man will once be his downfall."

Amid all the pain and humiliation, pride overcomes Hector over Achilles' disbelief.

"I would not be so sure. Maybe that's exactly what gets him back on his feet. "

Achilles doesn’t agree, but his aggression gives way to something softer. "Right now, we can count ourselves lucky if the wounds of his body heal. I'll worry about his mind when the time comes. "

For a while the two men sit in silence. Then:

"I'm sorry, Achilles. I should have come earlier, I should have somehow reached you. "

But Achilles waves dismissively. "You had a superior power against you. Even Patroclus admitted that. It was not your fault."

Antiochus seems little satisfied with the answer. "He could have helped me earlier, you know that, right? Then maybe I could have prevented the worst. "

A deep sigh of Achilles. "Yes, I know, and he will answer for that. But we could not have been there much faster anyway, so do not fret. "

The appeasement attempts fall only half on fertile ground, but obviously Antiochus considers it more important to yield. "If I can do anything ..."

"... so I'll let you know. Thank you, Antiochus. For all your services. "

Both rise and Antiochus leaves the tent. Achilles moves quietly, apparently he does not want to disturb him and only when the pillows are lowered next to him, Hector notices that he has sat down to him.

"How are you, Agathon?"

Hector opens his eyes and wants to smile, but when he looks into Achilles' sorrowful face, he does not quite succeed.

"Much better," he says. His fragile voice belies him.

Achilles ignores the obvious. "Can you sit up?"

A painful expression distorts Hektor's face. He wants to say "yes", wants to leave behind all that has been done to him. He presses his lips together and frowns as if he has to fight back tears again, then shakes his head quickly and barely noticeable.

Instead of an answer, he feels Achilles' strong hands reach under him and gently propping him up, not quite into sitting, leaving him strangely on the side, which is uncomfortable, but less painful than the alternatives. He leans against the pillows behind him and breathes in and out two, three times.

"Here!" Achilles sits opposite him and hands him a bowl from which it steams hot. He wants to reach for it, but his hands begin to shake with the effort, and as he groans in frustration, Achilles takes the dishes from him and wordlessly starts to serve him the food.

Shame and hunger make him sick, but his stomach growls too much for Hector to turn down the offer. The soup is hot and hearty. As he greedily devours every bite, he gets a little warmer.

He stares forward to avoid seeing Achilles' eyes. However, his behavior is probably not very subtle, because finally stops Achilles.

"It's alright, Agathon, it's all good now." He puts a hand on Hector's chin and wants to turn it up, but Hector refuses. Another sigh.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of."

Now Hector does look up and Achilles seems surprised at the anger in his eyes. "I heard you talking!", He practically spits the words towards Achilles, who remains silent for a while before murmuring: "Do not despise a compassionate heart, Agathon, just because it is grateful not to have borne your burden."

Hector snorts, but Achilles' sincere tone makes it hard for him to sound really derogatory. Rather half convinced, he replies: "My burden? What's that supposed to be? "

"You have endured great torments, my friend." No challenge, a simple statement. His honesty is so disarming that Hector almost misses what Achilles called him. He's already set to answer angrily, then he pauses.

"All torments shall surrender to my pride!" The sentence he has said to himself over and over again. Here, in the seclusion of Achilles' tent, it sounds more desperate than heroic. Nevertheless, he can feel how he straightens automatically and that's a good thing.

Achilles laughs, but it's a relieved tone, not a condescending one. "Well spoken. And at the very least Agamemnon has already had to surrender to your pride. You humbled him. "

How nice it would be to believe that. "Forgive me, I was not fully present the whole time, but I'm pretty sure it was the other way round." This time, Hector manages to smiles.

Only Achilles does not seem to completely agree, but rather gives him a look of serious admiration. "Well ... even Odysseus’ people tell the tale of the slave who spat Agamemnon in the face." He pauses and adds, "Did you really?"

For a moment, Hector must think about it. The past few days are blurring more and more. But after some reflection, he is pretty sure that this memory is real, especially because it is inseparably linked to the stink of Agamemnon's breath and the blow of his hand. "I had nothing to lose."

For the first time, Achilles laughs honestly and Hector adds something more serious, "I should have strangled him."

In fact, Achilles nods in agreement. Then he gets up and sighs, "Perhaps, if the gods are benign to you, you may still get the opportunity."

Hector raises his eyebrow with interest, but Achilles does not elaborate, but carries away the dishes. So Hector asks, "Is it true that you left the battle-field for good?"

Achilles pauses briefly before continuing to work in the back of the tent. "I expect an apology."

"You know you will not get that, right?" Hector wonders what exactly Achilles wants to accomplish, for he cannot be that naive. "Agamemnon can not risk further undermining his authority."

"You know," Achilles says as he grabs a cloth and comes back to him, "I am always amazed at your deep insights into hierarchical military structures and tactical calculations. For a simple soldier. "

Hector is listening for a threat but can not find one. He opens his mouth and closes it again and Achilles sits next to him again. He nods in the direction of Hector's nether regions.

"Do you have any other injuries you have not told me about?" The accusation is not real, it's more an attempt at teasing, Hector is sure of that and he shakes his head.

"Bruises and welts that will probably accompany me beyond the Styx. But nothing else I would know about. "

Achilles dips the cloth in the herbal mixture and wrings it out. Then he gestures for Hector to open his legs, who reluctantly follows his lead. He does not know if the skin in his crotch has torn under the abuse, but it feels that way. Accordingly unpleasant are Achilles' touches, even if his efforts of caefulness are visibly. Hector sinks deeply into the pillows, concentrating on breathing as Achilles massages the sore spots with firm, circular movements. He is not ashamed, why should he be? Achilles has already seen everything of him. But this time, his contributions are much more pragmatic and purposeful than when they've shared the bed, and for some reason Hector is grateful for it. Soon he will want to lie with Achilles again, he is sure of that. But for now the care of the other is comfort enough and perhaps more important than all ointments and tinctures.

When Achilles is done, he breathes a gentle kiss on Hector's thigh evoking a a soft and comforted sigh. He turns halfway so that he can look at Achilles and notices how he has grown hard under his tunic.

He wants to reach for it, but Achilles gently shakes his head. "Soon, my dearest Agathon. Soon.” The rest of his sentence suffocates in the heartfelt kiss that Hector draws Achilles.

The following days bring great progress for Hector. Under Achilles' care, he is recovering rapidly. Soon he can sit and walk again and maybe even more important: he makes use of it.

The first time to leave the tent is still a challenge. But none of the Myrmidons let him notice anything. If anything they now meet him with a certain respect, such as reserved for those among their brothers in arms, who have won a special victory or made terrible sacrifices on the battlefield. The lack of discrimination in their homage impresses Hector and once again it saddens him that such excellent soldiers must fight against his own of the same wood.

Even if at the moment they spend most of the day killing time with hunting and boxing and dice games. The halt over their camp does not seem to really annoy the Myrmidons, who encounter the new situation with a certain kind of gallows humor and invite Hector to do the same.

Yes, the days are really nice.

But at night, there come the nightmares. It does not start until later, when fatigue has subsided, and at first Hector does not even recognize what’s happening. It starts with the fact that he can not fall asleep. He's tired, that's true, and cannot stay awake a second longer. But every time he closes his eyes and his mind delves down into the deep black of unconsciousness, Agamemnon whispers in his ear.

"Sleep well, Trojan. Sleep and see if you wake up again. "

Then he thinks he feels a sharp sting on his neck and suddenly he is wide awake. The first few times it happens during the day when he is resting alone. Then he sits on the pillows, feels his heart racing and waits until the panic finally lessens.

But it does not go away, not completely, and soon he awakens Achilles with his antics, who now lies next to him again. Sweat-bathed, Hector sits in their bed, hand  pressed to his throat, and can feel his pulse slowing down. He waits and sinks back into a restless half sleep, not every night, but often enough.

At first, Achilles says nothing, just waits with him and pretends he does not notice. Only, it cannot go on forever. Hector does not flinch when Achilles' hand touches his shoulder blade. He expected it.

"It ... it's alright," he ties to shake it off, struggling for breath. "I just need to remember where I am." He talks more to himself than Achilles, who is sleep-blindedly reaching for him, and the warmth emanating from him gives Hector his answer.

"Maybe Antiochus was right." Achilles sounds tired and surprisingly meek. Hector's head turns to the man sitting next to him. "I should have come sooner, rode harder."

Surprised, Hector picks up the grief in the other's eyes. He thinks and briefly it seems as if he wants to pull him into a hug, but halfway he pauses. Instead, he places his palm on Achilles' chest so he can feel his heartbeat, an unspectacular gesture of forgiveness that is not needed. Achilles takes Hector’s hand om his and kisses it.

"How did you even find out?" Hector still cannot make sense of all the fragments. "How long have I been gone?" In his memory, it could have been six hours or even six weeks.

"Four days," Achilles begins with the easier question. "Antiochus came to meet us on the way back and urged us to return home sooner. When he told us about Agamemnon's betrayal, it took us about half a day tocome uup with a plan."

Hector interrupts him in disbelief. "That was a plan? What would you have done without a plan? Burnt down the camp?” He doesn’t feel like joking, but he knows that this part has to be harder for Achilles than it is for him and he succeeds. The Myrmidon smiles briefly, even if he gets serious again soon.

"It worked, did not it?" He is silent and does not stand Hector's gaze. "Antiochus feels guilty. Even though we surely would have taken at least two more days without him."

Hector nods. It's tedious and useless to ponder what would have happened if ... "How did he make it? The last time I saw our people, they were literally surrounded. "

Achilles' breath stopss for a second when Hector talks about their people. He licks his lips. "Patroclus helped him escape at night." Under his fingers he can feel Hector's muscles tense. He clumsily continues, "I do not want to say anything in his defense, I can’t. He acted out of jealousy and brought unforgiveable suffering down on you ..." His voice trails off.

  
Since Hector could say nothing except that Achilles speaks the full truth, he prefers to remain silent, but he does not shake off his hand. "Eumaeus has found refuge in Agamemnon's ranks," Achilles tries to distract more himself than anybody else. "But they are beginning to thin out immensely. Your people is severely decimating them." The thought leaves Hector surprisingly cold, even though there is some consolation in the fact that Ilium, like himself, has not given up resistance. "Maybe you'll get your apology faster than you think." But Achilles shakes his head. "I do not believe that. Too much hurt pride. But I thought you might be pleased to hear that the traitor will soon pay for his betrayal with blood." In the ensuing silence, Hector reflects his heart, searching for a sense of satisfaction, but it remains silent. His anger is gone, the defiance has eaten up all the energy in his soul. Sure, he's glad to know Eumaeus out of his life, but even if he threw him down into Tartarus with his own hands, that would not undo anything. So why waste a thought on it? He shrugs. "He will reap what he sowed." Then he looks expectantly at Achilles, who starts to say something a few times, but obviously can’t find the strength to continue. So Hector shows mercy on him. "I know Patroclus is still in the camp." He did not see him, but he heard the others talking. It did not surprise him. The lack of accusation losens Achilles‘ tongue. "When he saw what they were doing to you ... I do not know what he expected, but when he heard that they tortured you, he apparently came to his senses. At least Antiochus vouched for him trying to talk sense into Agamemnon, too, and that he finally helped him. "Achilles takes a deep breath. "His ignorance should not excuse him, but ..." But what? He did not know what he was doing? It does not surprise Hector that Achilles cannot finish the sentence. "I told him to stay out of your sight because otherwise I would not be able to guarantee what will happen to him. If I know right, he's camping on the outskirts with the footmen, and does well to stay away from the others, especially those who were here when the raid happened. Only, I cannato banish him, I can‘t."

The defeat in his words is unmistakable. Strange it seems to Hector to see great Achilles bowed in grief. He takes his hand away and strokes a blond strand from his face.

"I know." Achilles looks up at him, his eyes shimmering hopefully, and Hector continues, "I know what it's like to see a boy so similar to yourself, making all the mistakes you, thank the gods, circumnavigated by a fortunate coincidence in your youth. How could one be vindictive and scold?"

He sees Achilles relax and fron with interest. "How would you know? I hardly believe that you have taken an eromenos that I know nothing of. "

Hector laughs and shakes his head. "No, but I do have a little brother. And that may be almost as bad."

Achilles' features now show a smile as well. "And what vice did he make himself guilty of?"

"Well," Hector begins and chooses his next words very consciously. "If it were envy and hot temper with your Patroclus, then I would have to denounce my brother's love and lust. And stupidity."

Achilles nods impressed. "Sounds charming. But don’t these things often go together? And did you not say you could easily have succumbed to them? "

"If I had been less fortunate, perhaps," Hector confesses. "And that's why it's so hard for me to withdraw my support. Even if I condemn his actions. "

He does not know if he said too much, but Achilles still seems to be thinking of his own fool. Hector thinks and then throws caution overboard: "It was he who got me involved in this war, and I followed him, although I knew that nothing but death and ruin would wait for me."

At the time he was not so aware, but the beginning of the war is aeons away and with each passing year Hector has seen clearer. Achilles seems impressed.

 „You really love him." "Yes, I do," sighs Hector. "Even if I do not know why." "There we are two already." Achilles gets up without any warning, but refuses as Hector wants to follow him, then returns with wine and hands it to Hector. He waits for Achilles before toasting: "To stupid boys and the fools whose life they make difficult." Achilles grins and joins in. They sit and drink for a while. Sleep is no longer an option anyway. At some point, Achilles picks up the conversation again. "And what would you do without your stupid boy?" Hector leans his head awry. "Still be stuck in the tent of a Greek army commander." "I meant what you would do if you were not in this war," Achilles explains impatiently. Hector takes a sip and thinks. He would probably just be crown prince without Paris. Monitor tax expenditure, visit the provinces and hold court. But he can hardly say that. "You mean, if I could choose anything?" Achilles nods. Hector thinks again. "Herding goats", he finally answers and laughs a little, before he continues. "Yes, keep goats. Somewhere in the mountains, high above the sea. I would have an olive grove and live from my hands work and could not be touched by the kings of this world and their childish endeavours." Achilles mulls over the words and finally smiles. "That's not the worst idea. A little boring maybe. "

  
"In winter, the animals would need to go on lower meadows anyway. That leaves plenty of opportunity fort he occasional mercernary’s work", he suggests and Achilles seems to agree. "So, goats and olives and every now and then a sword. We would also need music." Hector smiles. "What gift from the gods it is then that I understand how to play the lyre." A wry grin flits across Achilles' face. Maybe he's trying to ask Hector to prove his skills, but he knows better and only asks: "Really?" Hector ignores the strange look on his face and answers sincerely: "Yes, really. I learned it as a boy, after all, it's a gift from Apollo. Of course, that was a long time ago, but I think I can say that I was not without talent." Achilles grins again, looks at him long and hard, and the affection in his eyes is unmistakable. "Well, I'm sure of that. It will be enough for the mountains. And if we take my song to it, we need not be afraid of robbers and highwaymen either“ Hector almost chokes on the sip of wine he ha staken, as they both laug hat their bold ideas. When they finally calm down, Hector sets the cup completely aside and moves closer to Achilles. That night, they make love for the first time since their separation. It is a clumsy and cautious act and not necessarily the sparkling fireworks that Hector has gotten to know. But it is warm and familiar, and even if it doesn’t chase away all the nightmares, it is enough for him to find a few hours of rest in Achilles‘ arms and to await the next morning with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: If an erastes wanted to woo an eromenos of his choice, it was expected of him to give the boy presents. They could reach from live hare to produce to money (although that was looked down upon). A lyre was also a viable option, although apparently that had certain erotic undertones, so when Hector proudly proclaims to be a talented lyre player to Achilles this propably sounds like "Did I mention I'm one hell of a lay?".


	17. Return

"Go go fort he throat!"

It is Peros who cheers Hector on the loudest, probably because he has bet a respectable sum on his victory. But the other Myrmidons also show surprisingly little loyalty to their leader since they have realized that Agathon has a real chance against him. Of course, it's not serious. It's a pastime, born out of necessity because the days are getting too long. Sure, the Myrmidons have not completely retired from the war. These days their forces are mainly used for the procurement of supplies. They hunt for venison, control the trade on the beach and help with the maintenance of the facilities. But anything that has to do with real warfare has been forbidden by Achilles, so they eventually went on to kill time with trifles and easy entertainment.

Hector does not know exactly how he got into the fights. It took a while to get back in shape, but since then he has quickly become one of the favorites. Not one of the soldiers defeated him, only Miltos was able to defy him for at least a while. It was probably stupid to get involved with Achilles. If he at least had practiced restraint! But he is tired of putting his light under the bushel. In all areas he has obeyed, pretending to be mediocre and enduring any humiliation so as not to attract attention. At least on the battlefield he wants to defend his honor. And he defends it well. The first few times he had trouble keeping up with Achilles. But Achilles spared him and that was his mistake. He fights purposefully and relentlessly, but also very offensively and becomes predictable in this

Hector, on the other hand, has learned to persevere. If he acts skillfully enough, he can fight for hours until his opponent's attention wears off and he only has to make one or two targeted strikes to throw the other off. If Achilles is a lion, he may be a wolf. That's what Achilles had to learn the hard way. Hector thinks smugly of how the Myrmidon had to give up for the first time. Sweating and panting, completely exhausted and barely able to parry his punches, he finally pulled him to the ground, clasped him from behind and pulled his arm tighter around his throat until Achilles knocked off, under the cheering of the surrounding soldiers

For a short moment, Hector had feared that he had violated the warrior's pride, but he was doing him wrong. All the consequence of his victory was an extra ration of wine from the men and that Achilles had not even waited until the curtain to the tent had fallen behind them to lift him up and carry him towards their bed.

A grin appears on Hector's face at the memory and Achilles uses the distraction. The blow hits him unexpectedly in the stomach. Hector stumbles to the ground while Achilles laughs at him.

"Fortune seems to be on my side today."

Hector does not respond to the provocation, he is not that stupid, but he raises his hand defensively and averts his face to hide the severity of the injuries. Of course, in the last fights Achilles won as much as he did. In the end they come out even. Only today, today he will be the winner, he has decided.

Twice he pretends to get up, but then remains in the sand, until Achilles finally throws away the wooden staff, which they use instead of swords, and extends his arm.

"Come, that was enough for today."

Hector nods. "I think so, too." And before he has uttered that last syllable, he has  scraped a handful of sand from the ground with his left hand and thrown it in Achilles’ face. With his right hand, he grabs the arm of the completely surprised warrior, who shortly roars, and throws him to the ground. He quickly reaches for Achilles' weapon, which he shoves under his neck before he straddles the man on the ground. His whole body weight pushes Achilles to the ground while he slowly strangles his breath. This always works well, as he has already noticed.

There's no use in trying to inflict serious wounds on Achilles. Most scratches and cuts remain superficial and heal quickly. He has never seen a deep wound on the body of the Greek. Not that he had wanted to. But he has learned from it and adapted his fighting style. Even now, Achilles does not know what to do with his predicament.

Beads of sweat are already running down his forehead when Achilles finally gives up. Relieved, Hector lets go of him, sits down in the dust beside him and has to catch his breath for a few moments. Achilles is not better off. Laughing and panting, the two sit side by side, while drachmas change owners around them.

"You have a new job from today on, Agathon." Achilles sounds choppy but amused.

Hector nods with difficulty. "And what should I do for you?"

"Remember me, never to lose sight of a Troyan I think defeated."

Grinning, Hector shrugs. "You do what you can."

Despite his words, Achilles eventually gets up and escorts him to dinner.

Only once does Achilles depart from his side this evening. That happens to quarrel with Patroclus. Hector keeps away. He forgives Achilles his leniency, but he can’t do the same. Only a few fragments of words are carried over to him from beyond the fire.

"... could help. They are being slaughtered. "

"…not my problem."

Then again nothing for a while and finally: "Do what you have to do."

When Achilles returns, his playful mood seems clouded. Hector does not ask. Without a word he hands him the wine and Achilles gratefully accepts.

\----

  
Hector awakens from gloomy dreams. He still does not easily sleep through nights, even though things have gotten better, so sometimes he chooses sleep away the hottest hours of the day in the shade of the tent. Today, however, Hector does not find peace. He can not remember the nightmare itself, but he is sweaty and has a bitter taste on his tongue. Sighing, he looks around. He is alone. As soon as he takes in the tent, an uneasy feeling seizes his soul, without him being able to say for sure what it is about, but it is getting stronger. He never considered himself a superstitious person. Sure, he honors the gods, but believes himself generally responsible for his own fate. Nevertheless, he can not completely shake away the dark foreboding of an imminent disaster. With his lips pressed together, Hector pulls himself up and is about to leave the tent, as he once again lets his gaze wander through the room and suddenly realizes what is missing there and the source of his restlessness: Achilles' armor, which has become an integral part of the furniture in recent weeks, is gone. Head over heels, Hector rushes outside. The sun is already amazingly deep and blinds him, his racing pulse and the last bits of his sleep do the rest. Uncoordinated Hector stumbles through the crowd of soldiers who look at him rather confused, Miltos grabs him by the arms. "What in Athenas‘ name has gotten into you?" Hector shakes his head wildly, he has to move on. "Achilles ... where is he?" "I dont know. I have not seen him since noon," replies Miltos, and the concern in his voice is more over Hector than his general. "Eudoros wanted to see him." Hector breaks free. "His armor! I have to find him! "

He does not pay attention to Miltos's calls. The Myrmidons are numerous and they are all here in the camp. How can  he find the one he is looking for? He finds him neither in the wrestling matches nor in the dice games. Nobody he asks can tell him where Achilles is. Instead, they try to persuade him to join them and it costs Hector a lot of self-restraint not to be brusque.

He does not know how long he has been searching, but it seems like forever. Just when he wants to give up and decides that it will be best to wait in the tent, he is torn from his thoughts by a riot at the entrance of the camp.

Screams pierce his ear and immediately make him awake. It only takes a few seconds to find the core of the unrest and he hurries to get there. His thoughts are racing. Is this a new attack from Agamemnon? Have the Trojans moved so close to the enemies’ forces?

But wherever his instincts drive him, he finds only Myrmidons. The noise has dropped, leaving a small circle of soldiers in almost eerie silence. More and more flock around it and each time a murmur goes through the ranks and then the newcomers fall silent. Hector pushes past the soldiers, pushes them aside and does not care.

  
Still, it takes some effort to find a place from which to see what's going on. And what he sees causes his heart to freeze: Achilles kneels on the dusty ground of the camp. Hector can only see him from the side, his blond hair covers his face. Heavily bent forward, as if he must endure great pain, Achilles sits there and stares to the ground. He does not wear his armor, which is a relief for a fraction of a second. But then Hector can make out the black of the harness and realizes that it is being worn by the man Achilles is holding in his arms. He does not see much of this figure, but around them the sand turns deep red and Hector does not have to go nearer to know that there will be no salvation for this soldier. He takes a step to the side and that's enough, so that he is able to recognize the fallen one in the distance. Patroclus, heavy and lank, bright strands hanging in the pale face. His helmet has been removed and his eyes have been closed. In a way he looks younger than ever. Achilles' tears fall gently to the ground. Hector's throat laces together. When Achilles raises his gaze, he thinks the agony in his face must make him choke. Then Achilles throws his head back and yells his suffering out into the slowly descending night. Hector can do nothing but endure the sight. How gladly would he comfort him now, but what could he say to relieve even a tiny bit of that loss? Only the hand that lays on his shoulder, tears him from his numbness. He turns around and looks into Miltos' face, who also has Antiochus and Peros with him. "Come!" Hector frowns. "What? Why?" "Just come along!", Peros hisses now and they start to pull him away. Hector is still too overwhelmed to fight back. As they rush through the dusk, he barely succeeds in thinking clearly. "What is happening here?" He says. Antiochus answers: "We do not know exactly. It seems Patroclus set out this morning with a small group of soldiers heading for the city. " "Why would he do that?"

Peros shrugs. „To atone for his messteps I presume. Either way he did so wearing Achilles‘ armor.“

  
"His plan has worked out," adds Antiochus. "From what Odysseus‘ people have told me, we have killed so many today, as we have not done for a long time. At least at the beginning." Hector does not quite follow all this, there is too much information at once, but he senses an indescribable anger. How could the boy  believe that this could be the right way to get forgiveness? The futility of the heroic act is heartbreaking and sobering, like everything else in this war, and no matter what he thinks of Patroclus, he wishes the young man had sought to talk to Achilles instead of trying to regain his affection this way. "What happened then?" Antiochus sighs. "Then he met Hector who has been raging like a fury amongst our men for days now. It was him who killed Patroclus." For a moment, Hector freezes before they hurry on. He understands the words well, but he can not recognize the meaning. What, by all the gods, is going on in Troy? "Hurry up!", Miltos continues to drive him and Hector harshly slaps his hand from his shoulder. "Why? What does that have to do with me? Should not I be with him now? " Miltos laughs, a joyless sound, and shakes his head. "You will get the opportunity to console him soon enough. But when the sadness recedes, the anger will come, Agathon. And then you do not want to be the only Trojan among an army of Greeks. " Hector wants to argue, but even before he can speak, he knows that Miltos is right. Since he does not know what to say, he is silent and the others do the same. There is too much this day has brought and that needs to be thought out and each of the men remains alone with this burden. They reach the tent and Peros opens the entrance for him. "Wait here! I do not know when Achilles will come back and in what state, but until then you're safe here. " Every fibre of Hector is reluctant to sit idly by, but there is nothing anyone could do now. He only nods briefly. "I thank you!" And he forces himself to give a smile tot he men.

Then he is alone in the tent and he has never felt so trapped as on this evening.

It takes a long time for Achilles to come to him and he comes as a driven one. In the middle of the night he steps to Hector and pulls him out of the tormenting inactivity. His face is bloated from the shed tears. Carefully, Hector comes to him and puts his own forehead against his. Achilles allows it, if only for a few seconds, and the familiar gesture means the world to Hector.

Then Achilles shakes his head and whispers: "Get dressed, Agathon."

Confused, Hector looks up at him. He wears the same simple tunic as the last few days, but Achilles reaches for a longer, firmer one, one that you might actually wear among people, and gets him leather sandals. Hector is standing there perplexed and does not know what to do.

Instead of following Achilles' request, he asks, "What's this?"

He expected  many things, anger, grief, hate ... Not this. Achilles himself has begun to put on arm and leg splints and answers, without looking back at him: "You go home."

The shoes hit the ground as Hektor drops them. "What?"

"You’re going home. We’ll get you cross the battlefield tonight. If you approach the city from the southeast, you will probably be able to go unnoticed and find some secret path back. "

"But ..." Hector starts, but Achilles raises his hand.

"I know you have to know the secret supply routes, you don’t have to deny it."

Furious, Hector comes to him and pulls him around so he has to look at him.

"Of course I know them. That’s not the point. Why do you want to send me away? Why now?"

Now anger blazes up in Achilles’ eyes, too, but it’s blown away as fast as it flared up. "Because then, maybe, you still have a chance to escape the inferno."

"What inferno?" But even as he asks the question, he knows the answer. Achilles avoids his gaze and full of resignation Hector puts to words what has been decided already: "You want to go back into the fight."

"He took Patroclus from me, Agathon." All the anguish, all the pain he has to feel, Achilles puts in that sentence, muting any objection Hector might utter. "Patroclus, whom I should have seen mature and whom I should have protected. Whose children I could have been a good godfather to and who should have been a better man than I ever was. "

No words in the world could comfort him, Hector knows that, so he only pulls him closer and holds him, while heavy, dry sobs shake the body in his arms. They stand there for quite a while, and Hector thinks eons would not be enough to relieve their grief.

"Promise me you will not seek him out." He only whispers the words, but they do not miss their effect.

Achilles stiffens in his embrace. "Why not? Give me a good reason why I should not take revenge! "

Feverishly, Hector searches for an answer.

"I do not ask you for his sake." That's at least half the truth. Whoever wears his armor in Troy and pretends to be him - and Hector thinks he knows already who it is - has not earned his protection. But when he returns and Achilles challenges the crown prince, he himself will be the one to answer. He closes his eyes and sees them both lying in the sand, panting and exhausted, only that this time it is not a cheap pastime, but bloody earnest. Determined, he shakes off the pictures. "Hector is a dangerous man."

"Hector is a dog!" The words, spewed out angrily, strike him surprisingly hard, and it costs him quite some self-control not to take the insult personally.

  
"That may be, but also an experienced and capable warrior. If you face him, it is not clear which one of you will leave the battlefield alive.“ Or if there will even be a survivor. He briefly wonders if he would survive seeing Achilles struck down by his own sword. Achilles, however, flares up. "A thousand furies could not defeat me!" He steps back and begins again to equip himself. "I'm invincible," he mumbles. Hector knows the rumors and he has never asked, but he also knows Achilles, maybe better than he does himself. It does not cost him much. With two skilful steps, he has brought down the Myrmidon, who did not see the attack coming. The fight is short. Desperate curage drives Hector and soon he has pressed Achilles to the blankets, his arms behind his back, unable to resist him much. Granted, it was not a fair fight, but that's not what counts. "What are you doing, Agathon?" Achilles does not look really angry, rather irritated. "Hector can be dangerous to you. Do not underestimate him, Achilles!“ Hector hisses in his ear angrily. "You do not know that…" But before he can finish his sentence, four men step into the tent, his old bodyguard, as he discovers with a pinch of nostalgia, and there is nothing left for him to do but get up and shake hands with Achilles. He pulls himself up and puts both hands on Hector's shoulders. Beneath all the anger and grief, there ist he kindness that has always been reserved for Hector alone and it makes him wonder how he is supposed to leave Achilles for a minute let alone forever.   
"You worry too much, Agathon!" Warm and comforting Achilles' words reach his ear, as if from a time loong gone. "Go home! Find your beloved ones and flee while you have time. If the gods are kind, I will one day find you in your olive grove. " Hector feels his throat tighten. He grabs Achilles' face with both hands. "May Apollo's blessings shine down on you and lighten all your ways!" The embrace they draw into is dear and desperate, yet too short, for Dimitrios is already urging them to leave. As he steps out into the starry night with the others, Hector thinks he can not take another step, but he goes on, one step and then another, on and on. Away from the camp of the Greeks and unerringly towards the city, whose high walls are smooth and empty in the distance, illuminated only by a few isolated fires. Unyielding and imposing at the same time stand Ilium. Hector takes a deep breath.

 


	18. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for taking so long, I had a few exams and no time whatsoever, but I finally finished the chapter.
> 
> This isn't the last one but the two chapters left are much shorter, so I hope to finish them quicker.
> 
> Thanks for the words of encouragement and enjoy.
> 
> P.S.: I use the word "rape", which I found should be the correct term for what Paris did to Helen (like kidnapping her) but I don't feel completely sure about it, so please let me know if I used it correctly.

"HECTOR!"

In the silence that follows Achilles' call, a few crows flutter from the city walls. Otherwise everything remains silent. Far in the distance the defensive lines of the Greeks can be seen. They let Achilles go alone. No one dared to stand in the way of the world-destroying wrath of the Myrmidon. Troy lies untouched and silent as ever in the shimmering heat of the midday sun. If Achilles' black armor bothers him, he doesn’t give it away. His feet hit the ground hard as he jumps off his chariot.

"HECTOR!"

The heavy helmet covers much of the face, but one does not need to see it to recognize the unrestrained hatred. Twelve days have passed since Patroclus' death. Twelve days in which the fighting has ceased almmost completely to make room for grief. Twelve days in which Hector had to return to his home, without really feeling that he had ever fully returned. He will never forget the joy of seeing his father alive again, even if it hurts to see Priam broken and so old with grief. It is good to have lifted at least  this one sorrow from his mind.

Despite his fears, they immediately recognized him and his return has turned a small spark of hope into a raging fire throughout the city. Paris and his other brothers welcomed him with incredible joy. They did not ask much about his martyrdom but focused on the miracle of his return, and he only told what had to be said. All in all, it seems that he doesn‘t make too broken an impression. The iron braces aroung his wrists have been removed easily leaving them weirdly free. Andromache was the only one to see the branding and she knew better than to adress the mazzer. She met him in good hope, finally. He was gone for almost six months and she is in her fifth now. He does not ask.

„HECTOR!“

The shade of the canopy above them provides little protection from the brightness. Yet, almost the entire court has gathered above the walls since Achilles came to the gates this morning. Priam sits exhausted in the background, Paris stands with Helena a little aside. Hector has preferred to talk to his little brother as little as possible. The boy briefly made the suggestion that it should be him who faces the raging Myrmidon to make amends for his boldness and misjudgement, but nobody took this approach seriously.

Hector grinds his jaw as he stares into the distance. A gentle wind sweeps through his hair. He again wears the golden clasps of the royal family. With a jerk, he turns away from the plane at his feet and steps in front of the king. He kneels down and can not manage to hold the old man's gaze. "Father," he begins and does not quite know how to proceed without breaking his heart. "Forgive me my absence. I served you as best I could. "

“HECTOR!”

He wants to go on, but no words are needed to explain his decision. Rigid and venerable Priam sits in front of him. Then, suddenly, he reaches for him and kisses the forehead of his firstborn.

"May the gods be with you!" whispers the king, trying for a desperate smile. Once again Hector lowers his head, then gets up to leave.

He wants to go down the steps from Priam’s throne, when he is held back again. "Hector!" Hector looks up. "No father ever had a better son."

For a moment, Hector wishes to hug his father, but he knows that would not make it any easier. So he puts all his affection in the last look he gives him, then he finally descends from the walls.

“HECTOR!”

When they open the gate for him, Achilles' calls grow louder, and Hector feels fear in his heart. He has put his own armor back on and the helmet. The sword at his side is his, they must have salvaged it after his abduction from the temple. His spear and shield suddenly feel very heavy.

His beard grown long again, almost to a decent length and only small cuts have remained as evidence of the injuries inflicted on him, but they could easily stem from the recent battles. Only at his wrists one can still recognize a hint of the calluses caused by the handcuffs.

He does not think Achilles will recognize him and that's a good thing. They are still too close to the city. The battlefield that both sides offer them is big enough that they can exchange some words in private if they are careful and that's what Hector is aiming for, even if he does not know what to make of it. Also, he has to hold Achilles in check for long enough first. The gods will decide if he succeeds.

Achilles is silent. From burning blue eyes he looks towards his opponent. With the utmost attention Hector takes a few more steps towards him. About four meters are still between them.

"You are a noble hero, Achilles," he begins, without preamble or banter. "Show your nobility and I'll make a pact with you, with the gods as our witnesses. Let us pledge that the winner will allow the loser all the proper funeral rituals."

He does not know if Achilles recognizes his voice. Probably not, as loud and echoing as he sounds out here. But either way, it will give him time to negotiate with the other.

At first, Achilles does not answer at all. Then a grin appears on his face, joyless and cold, that sends a shiver down Hector’s spine.

"There are no pacts," he hisses, planting his spear into the ground, "between lions and men." And Hector wonders how he could have hoped for Achilles’ leniency for even a second.

"What happened is tragic," Hector tries to calm him down at least a little. "But it was just misdirected honor. On both sides."

  
"Honor!“ Achilles hisses. "You gave him the honor of your sword!" And it torments Hector that he can not contradict, not yet. "You won't have eyes tonight. You won't have ears, or a tongue. You'll wander the underworld, blind, deaf, and dumb. And all the dead will know: this is Hector, the fool who thought he killed Achilles!"

Nothing in his word leaves even the spark of a doubt about his seriousness. Hector grasps his spear a little tighter. Achilles takes his back up again and without warning he rushes towards Hector, who avoids the first assault, lets Achilles run past him. But the second try he has to stop already and he feels that Achilles puts more power into his movements than he has ever experienced. He briefly sways under the force, but catches himself quickly and in turn goes over to an attack. The spear bounces off Achilles' shield. Quick and unyielding, one blow after another rains down on Hector, who has a great deal of trouble keeping the Myrmidon at bay.

A few times they circle around each other, then Achilles lunges forward, feigning an attack from the side, but returns Hector's block attempt with his shield and a loud crack sounds as he splits Hector's spear.

Quickly Hector considers whether he should keep the remnant, but as a ranged weapon it is no longer useful and as a melee weapon it will only work if he wants to mortally wound Achilles. Furious, he flings the spear aside and grips his shield with both hands to better absorb the Achilles' attacks.

He retreats, weighs Achilles to safety and just as he tries to reach out again, Hector strikes the shield at Achilles' wrist so that he lets go of his spear, which flies far away and gets stuck further back in the sand.

Somehow he manages not to sigh in relief. Instead he uses Achilles' surprise and draws his sword. If he wants to drive him away from the walls, he must do so now, otherwise it is questionable whether he gets the opportunity again. Fast and deliberate he sets his strikes and Achilles actually struggles briefly to deflect them. Hector knows his way of fighting and that gives him a slight advantage so he can propel Achilles a few feet before the latter catches himself.

But once he overcomes his astonishment, he sets out with new anger to attack and this time Hector is not prepared for it. The blow that he thought to be aimed at his arm goes to his thigh and even though the cut does not go that deep, Hector cries out. It is painful tostand but the adrenaline erases everything else.

Now it is Achilles who drives him, harasses him and pushes him into the desert between the warring camps. Hector does not know how long he will be able to withstand Achilles' rage. For the moment he parries beat after beat, but already he can feel his limbs begin to flag.

"Apollo, give me strength," he prays silently, and the brief distraction is enough to make him forget the stand of his feet for a second. The stone that brings him down is not big, but big enough that he can not counter the sudden interruption and goes down painfully. Hector tastes blood.

Frantically, he crawls forward, trying to distance himself from his pursuer before rolling onto his back, horrified to find Achilles already there. Threatening he stands above him, the sword lowered to his throat and a look of dismissive joy on his face.

"Get up, Prince of Troy!" Achilles, too, is out of breath, albeit less than himself. "I won’t let a stone take my glory."

Hector looks around. Over the roofs of the city he can see the royal banners blowing. He knows they are watching him. A good forty meters are now between the two of them and the walls. To the Greek ranks, it is certainly twice as much. Instead of following Achilles' orders, Hector sits up and spits out the blood. Then he takes off his helmet and looks up at Achilles.

It seems as if the other is suddenly frozen in the middle of the movement. He does not take the sword away, but lets it sink slightly and frowns.

"What are you doing here, Agathon?" There it is again, the care and affection Hector has become so familiar with, and that encourages him.

He answers with sadness in his voice. "Do I not always come when you call me?"

Achilles does not understand right away. Only slowly and irrevocably does the realization spread in his face. "No." A desperate whisper. "That's not true." He shakes his head and Hector does not dare to add anything. Then again "No!" And this time it is filled with hatred and warns Hector just in time to lift his shield.

It takes all his strength to ward off Achilles' leap and push him away. The Myrmidon also falls to the ground, but rolls over and recovers almost at the same time as Hector, who now also raises his sword to defend his life.

"How could you? How dare you? ", Achilles yells and only marginally Hector worries how much of their conversation can be heard.

As he fends off Achilles' strikes, he tries to justify himself. "I was afraid for my life. Do you seriously ask me to reveal who I am to my mortal enemy? "

His words anger Achilles even more. "Your mortal enemy? Did I not always treat you well? "

"You, yes. But were there not enough others among you who sought my life? "

Their swords clash, neither one dares to pull back the iron and they brace themselves against each other.

"You should have told me!"

"I tried!" Hector gasps and ducks as he pulls the blade back. "That one evening, after Agamemnon's feast. But you were asleep already. And did I not warn you not to seek out Hector? That nothing good would come out o fit?“

Achilles is silent. Apparently, he knows not what to say, but he fights on with angry strikes. The pain in Hector's leg is getting worse. Resigned, he adds: "I beg you, Achilles: Stop! I never wanted to betray you, please believe me! "

And against all hope he can feel how Achilles' blows are getting weaker, not much, but more bearable. In the anger, pain mixes and Hector continues. "I know the pain you feel, I know what was taken from you. It was Paris who took my armor and slaid Patroclus. "The next blow is amazingly hard again. "I did not know that they had found my things and had I known, maybe I could have warned you."

He has to stop for a moment to catch his breath. "I wish I could have prevented it, believe me. I never wanted to see you suffer. But both of us were betrayed. "

Achilles laughs but there is no joy in the sound. "You may be right, my friend." "We are fools of fate, both together."

Their swords continue their song as they resist the blows of the other.

"And only together can we bring an end to this." With a hard push Achilles sends Hector staggering backwards. "And how is that supposed to happen?" It's not a reproach, rather anger and despair. "Will you lay down your weapons and tell your people that you are going with me to live as my whore?" Hector forces himself not to respond to the provocation that can only have arisen from injury. "Do you want me to come with you and rape me, like your brother raped Helen?"

Hector closes his eyes and wrestles with his own despair. He has no answer. No searching and no worries in the last few days has shown him any way out. There is no escape from this war. Both are soldiers and both will do what you expect them to do.

With new strength he rushes towards Achilles. He can almost put the blade to his throat and just so manages to delay long enough for Achilles to interpose his own weapon without being harmed. "I will not kill you, I know that at least", he squeezes out. They are close enough for him to smell Achilles. Sweat and musk and safety.

"I've already lost one I loved," Achilles replies, speaking softly enough that Hector can just hear him. "Do not ask me to live through it again."

But Hector senses his strength fading. He knew that there was no hope for him in this war, long before this fateful day. Why then show fear of the inevitable?

"Did you not tell me yourself that you are invincible?"

"I also told you that you should look after my property!" Achilles hisses back, but he also realizes that Hector's resistance is getting weaker and that makes his anger burn high again.

"Fight harder!" And with the next blows Hector staggers far back.

Achilles yells again and louder this time. Determination appears on Hector's face as he mobilizes his last ounces of strength. Of course Achilles will not understand, but he has long accepted that Troy will not wn this war and to at least have spoken with Achilles again, to have him by his side…

Once again he manages to launch two attacks on Achilles, which the other easily endures.

Then he starts another punch and Hector's arm twitches as if to lift his shield.

At the last second he breaks off his parade and Achilles has no time to react. Light and surprisingly noiseless, the forged steel penetrates his breastplate. Hector gasps. He feels no pain as he falls back and goes down. Achilles' sword is deep in his side, the Myrmidon has let go of it in his surprise and a silly laugh rises in Hector’s throat as he examines the bizarre sight. Above him the sky darkens.

He does not remember how he got into the dust, but he is on his knees and needs to concentrate in order not to sink down. Out of the corner of his eye, he perceives the remains of Achilles' spear. He hadn’t realized their fight had taken them this far. It's hard for him to see something, the world is getting darker and darker. Hector begins to crawl towards the spear. Maybe it will help him sit up. The movement makes him moan and as he opens his lips, he feels the blood running down his chin. He has to sit down, he needs the strength, because he hasn‘t got much time and he still wants to talk to Achilles, he still has to, before he can start his journey beyond Styx.

He reaches the spear and tries to sit up, but the wood breaks and leaves him with nothing but the sharp blade in his hand. Behind him he hears footsteps. "Wait!", he wants to shout, "Do not finish it just yet!", but only a miserable rattle leaves his lips.

Hector feels Achilles' hands on his shoulders, feels him turn him over and panic rises in him. Everything is so dark and he feels the cold creep into his limbs. He fights wildly, reaches nothing but Achilles' feet, and despairs. Then his shoulders are free. He looks at his hands and sees blood. Where from? His own is not, he did not touch the wound. There’s a dull roar in his head, as next to him Achilles goes down. Puzzled, Hector looks around and has to concentrate to see what's happening in front of him. The spearhead in his hand is bloodstained. He still holds it as if it could help him to his feet again. Achilles' face is an expression of fundamental surprise. He clasps his heel, from which bright red, fresh blood spills.

It's so hard to figure it all out now that his thoughts are getting so slow and sticky. A hand reaches for his and instinctively Hector returns the grip. He pulls himself together. "Forgive me! I did not mean to-"

He does not know if he will find the strength to finish his sentence, but then Achilles interrupts him anyway. "I know."

Everything around them turns black.


	19. Deus ex caelo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Spoilers if the chapter title hasn't already done that for you]
> 
> Okay, usually I wouldn't touch this trope with a ten-foot-pole, because bad writing. But consider:
> 
> a) the two of them really deserved a chance  
> b) if I don't use it in a story built on ancient Greece narration, where the hell can I?
> 
> I suppose, this and the next chapter can be read as rather wishful thinking. So if you prefer something dark and gritty, ignore, or, if you like your occasional happy ending: here you go!

When Hector opens his eyes, there is light around them.

Bright, glistening light and at first he is so blinded by it that he has to close his eyes again. He tries to feel for his surroundings, finds Achilles' hand and the fact that it is warm gives him incredible, desperate hope.

The cold has left his limbs and also the pain is somehow dulled and numb. Groaning, Hector heaves himself to his knees and pulls Achilles up with him. Only dimly can he recognize the other man, who just seems to regain consciousness.

He blinks a few times and then forces himself to look up. He still tastes blood, but he can no longer feel any steel in his flesh. The light cradles them both, cozy and warm, but beyond, everything is in darkness. Troy blurs beyond the golden splendor to mere schemes. Hector looks up. The sun, golden and unchangeable in the sky a moment aho, is obscured now.

He blinks again and what looked like a black disk turns out to be the head of a man standing above them. The stranger is tall and muscular. He wears nothing but a golden himation that he has swung around his loins and his shoulder. His face is young and beautiful, but at the same time bears witness to ancient wisdom. His locks are so bright that they look almost white and his eyes are of a warm amber. A golden hoop crowns his head, otherwise it is completely unadorned. The glow that surrounds them seems to emanate from him.

Hector gasps. Achilles, too, seems to be at his senses again and immediately makes for his sword.

"That is really not what I imagined things to turn out.“ The man's voice is light and strong at the same time. He seems amused.

Anger rises in Hector. "Who are you and what do you want here, that you need to gloat at our suffering?"

A laugh is the only answer. Then the stranger comes slowly towards them and with each step it gets brighter around them. Neither Achilles nor he can even move a finger. He hears Achilles' breathing go faster and embraces him tighter. The shining stranger stands very close and bends down to Hector. He gently puts a hand on his cheek and strokes it carefully. "My poor boy! Do not you know that it was me who protected you all along? "

Anger and disbelief conflict Hector's mind, and they almost tempt him to a nasty remark, but before he can begin to speak, another voice interrupts him.

"Don’t be so mean, brother!" The woman who speaks is wearing a harness over her floor-length tunic and her helmet and spear are not unlike those of Achilles, even though she now puts the weapon aside and kneels to the Greek, who still looks quite dazed. Carefully, she taked his foot and caresses the wound.

"That's the dangerous thing about small vulnerabilities," she sighs. "Once you hit them, it's even worse."

Hector can feel Achilles’ shivers recede under her administrations and his certain dislike of it. Achilles’ voice is hoarse as he begins to speak.

"Leave that be, woman, and go, if you do not know a way to escape two armies at once." Hector closes his eyes and tries to think of a discreet way to make Achilles shut up. He doesn’t think it to be wise to provoke a goddess. Luckily, the woman only seems slightly amused.

"Nothing is so hard as man’s ingratitude", the blond man intervenes. "Very charming, your Achilles, my dear."

The woman laughs. "Well, his manners are truly debatable." Then she turns back to the two men in the dust and her eyes shine in a super-human blue. "Luckily for you, I get along well with smart plans and unexpected feinting."

The man smiles again and gazes curiously. "If you two could go away ... wherever you want to go and not look back once... where would you go?"


	20. Epilogue

"Do you want to stay here all day?"

No answer except the chirping of the cicadas. It is still incredibly hot this summer, but in the shade of the olive trees even the midday heat can be endured. Hector raises his hand to squat a mosquito that has settled on his arm. Then he raises his cup and takes a sip.

"Why not?", he utters lazily and passes the wine on to Achilles, who is sitting next to him leaning against a rock and admiring the beauty of the plains and the sea beneath them. Behind them the summit of Ida rises highly to meet the sky. It is a narrow, stony path that leads up to their refuge. Chariots can not pass it and even with their horses it is difficult to get there. The rocks and the heavy ascent hide the grove in which lies the little house that they have built with their own hands. It's not a vast land, but enough for what they need and a few goats as surplusage.

"Of course you are absolutely right, my prince!", Achilles agrees, which makes Hector stab his elbow into Achilles‘ side. Achilles laughs and the sound is music in Hector‘s ears.

Sighing, Achilles sinks lower and lays his head on Hector's shoulder. "Wake me up when something important happens."

They have not heard of the war for a long time. It is rumoured that the gods carried them both to Elysium, and in a sense it is true. None oft hem wanted to know more. Maybe they will find out more in the winter when they will descend to the valleys to sell parts of their herd.

Right now, however, the futile and pointless horrors of war have degenerated into a distant, yellowed memory, and none of them wants to touch it.

For the first time, everything is fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, okay, so this is really it and I have to say, I'm rather proud of finishing such a long story more or less quickly. Twice.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I certainly enjoyed writing it, and if you don't mind, let me know in the comments, what you thought of it!


End file.
